


Something Entirely New

by Fae_Ryn



Category: Prey (Video Game 2017)
Genre: Alex does some shady stuff, Alex tried to be a good older brother, Also in the tags so don't read these if you haven't finished the game, Experimentation, Gen, In that Six views Alex's actions through rose-tinted glasses, Main character is the Typhon/human hybrid introduced at the end, Male Morgan - Freeform, Mature rating for Prey typical violence, Misgendering, Morgan was snarky, Not excessively but it's there, Nothing but familial relationships here, Others often call them it, POV Third Person Limited, Self-Hatred, Six basically looks like the female Morgan option, Six is also snarky and sarcastic, Six uses they/them pronouns, Six wants to be good, Some Mental Illness and Suicidality, Sometimes has dark themes, Spoilers for the ending of the game in literally the first hundred words, The Yu parents suck, They're named Six, Unreliable Narrator, also swearing, black and white morality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2018-11-19 06:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 116,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11307951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fae_Ryn/pseuds/Fae_Ryn
Summary: Six's life has been sink or swim since they woke up in a recreation of a dead man's memories to absolute chaos. Murderous aliens, dead humans every five feet, and choices they're positive they aren't qualified to make. Unfortunately, reality isn't much kinder.They were made to bridge the gap between two species so different they can't even communicate, and no one can actually tell them how to do it.The TranStar Board of Directors want a weapon, not a person.The friends they thought they'd made died years ago, and the brother they don't have may well be untrustworthy.And that dead guy? Maybe not as dead as they'd like, since his memories won't leave them alone.





	1. Six and Who the hell am I?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I was disappointed at the lack of fanfic for Prey so here I am. I will be the entire Prey fandom. By myself.
> 
> The story is fully outlined, but I can't always write. Updates are going to be sporadic but always 10k words or more, and I've set it up so you'll only need vague knowledge of the previous chapter(s) to know what is going on. Heck, you could probably read this without having played Prey and not be lost.
> 
> I will be listing triggers in the notes at the bottom of chapters that need it, and I am willing to add anything you may need to the things I list. The only things I will not be marking is dehumanizing comments/pronoun use for Six, because that will be in every chapter, any violence that isn't particularly graphic, and mentions of death/offscreen deaths. If you don't want to post your triggers for the world to see get on anon to comment or ask me and I'll give you my tumblr so you can talk to me there. If a chapter has trigger warnings I will mention it in the beginning notes, so check here!
> 
> I should also note that I'm an English major whose most in depth science class was an AP bio class in high school with a weird teacher who was just subtle enough that he never got in trouble for sexual harassment of students. That and an oceanography class in college. Point is I don't know a hell of a lot of science so if I'm writing it it's probably BS, with the exception of mirror neurons because that is some cool stuff. So I'm sorry if I mess something up.

“I won’t relinquish control of the terminal. If you want to activate the Nullwave, you’ll have to kill me.”  
  
It's a lot for Morgan to process. Alex is splayed out on the floor, the slight rise and fall of his chest the only thing letting him know his brother is alive. Some kind of Apex Typhon - he's honestly just been calling it ‘That giant motherfucker’ but it does _technically_ have a proper name - is punching holes in the Talos 1. There's a ship primed to go with everyone he's managed to save, including a doctor with dubious morals, a woman he can't remember that he thinks is his ex, a woman who's way too adept in this war zone of a ship to have been in charge of security, and a man sent by his father to kill them all. And that's ignoring the fact that the entire spaceship has been overtaken by murderous aliens, and he's been stuck in a never ending time loop for who knows how long by his brother so that he can be a test subject for brain modifications using the aforementioned killer aliens.  
  
Saying it's been a long day is an understatement. Days? How long has it been since he slept? How long could humans go without sleep?  
  
What about possible alien replacements?  
  
Was he doing something?  
  
Right. January. Blowing up the ship.  
  
Or, Morgan reminds himself, looking down at his brother, I trust him and believe I can kill the Typhon and leave the humans alive.  
  
Why am I the one making this choice again?  
  
“Hey, January.”  
  
“Morgan.”  
  
“Got a question for you,” Morgan says, watching the dark pulsing mass outside. “Am I really human?”  
  
“I am afraid I do not understand your question, Morgan.”  
  
“Right. I guess that's not what I really want to know before I die for humanity. So, January. Was I ever really Morgan Yu?”  
  
January is silent for a few seconds too long. “Of course you're yourself. Who else would you be?”  
  
Morgan sighs. “Well, guess I'm not getting that answer. See you in a bit, January.”  
  
The wrench in his hand crashes into January with the same force that sent Phantoms to their knees. January doesn't fare much better. Morgan stands back as the Operator explodes, then steps over the twisted metal frame. He tries to remember that January's just a computer and there's got to be backup files somewhere so he's not really dead, but it still feels like he's done the wrong thing.  
  
The computer that dooms or saves humanity looks just like every other one he's ever seen. The white box on the white screen reads ‘Nullwave Transmit’.  
  
“I hope you knew what you were doing, Alex,” Morgan says, eyes fixed on the giant motherfucker outside. “And if I'm right, and this kills me too…. Eh. Guess it doesn't matter.”  
  
Morgan presses the confirmation on the screen.  
  
Orange and yellow light fills his vision, and a moment later he can hear the screeching of angry Typhon. Outside, the dark looming threat falls to pieces, dissolving into nothing.  
  
“It worked,” Morgan says numbly, staring down at his hands. He wasn't dissolving. He… wasn't dissolving?  
  
“What is a Neuromod? Well, it's an easy answer - and a complicated one at the same time.”  
  
What the…? Alex? Morgan tries to turn to look at his brother, but everything, himself included, is frozen.  
  
“It is the future - today. And more importantly…. Our past. Today.  
  
“This is the work TranStar does. Every employee. Working together.  
  
“It's immortality. And it is beautiful.”  
  
The world fades to black as Alex speaks like some sort of bizarre infomercial. Then it's grey and red, numbers shooting across a screen as the sound of a computer loading trills in his ears.  
  
A brilliantly red box reading ‘LG V3.5’.  
  
Blue.  
  
Something dark coming up, away.  
  
Blurry, all kinds of colors, predominantly white.  
  
When his vision clears, he is facing four Operators, and Alex. He looks older, drawn, still a large man but now with loose skin indicating heavy weight loss in too short a time.  
  
“It’s finished. How did it do?” Alex asks, watching him like he used to watch lab rats sick from whatever he’d put into their systems.  
  
Morgan is groggy, like he's been asleep but didn't get enough before being woken up. It feels like his thoughts have to move through sand to get anywhere. Still. ‘It.’ Not ‘he’. ‘It.’  
  
The Operator who responds is third from the left, and it speaks with Dr. Igwe’s voice. “Activation of the mirror neurons is promising. Empathy Quotient shows to be…  
  
“Exceptionally high.”  
  
“It probably thinks it was dreaming. That nothing mattered,” Alex says. ‘It’ notes that Alex is speaking as though it isn't there, as though it can't hear.  
  
“You're assuming it thinks like us,” Operator Igwe says disdainfully.  
  
Alex's voice is tired as he responds.“Its life depends on it.”  
  
Ah, lovely. And here I thought I was only at the mercy of the Typhon and my own sense of justice.  
  
“Ours too.”  
  
Wait. What?  
  
“It all comes down to the choices it made.”  
  
“It saved me from the cargo container. I would have died if it hadn't,” Operator Igwe says. “Later, it recovered the Leitner connectomes, which were useless to it, but of deep personal importance to me. It used several Typhon based Neuromods - this may indicate an instinctive return to its kind. But its most surprising act is sparing Dahl. While possibly done for personal reasons, this opened up the possibly for others to escape Talos 1.”  
  
As Igwe speaks, ‘It’ moves just enough to test a theory. There’s nothing keeping it on this chair. No chains, not even the flimsy fabric restraints used in hospitals. Why?  
  
“Mikhaila?” Alex stops observing ‘It’ for long enough to glance up at the leftmost Operator.  
  
“I would have died without my medication. That wasn't easy-”  
  
Actually kind of was.  
  
“- That says a lot, I think, about its heart. Can I say that? That it has a heart?  
  
“And then there's that man from Psychotronics, Ingram.”  
  
The name sends a wave of unease through it. A reminder that any advancements Alex and Morgan had made were at the expense of human life.  
  
“Would you let it live?” Alex asks.  
  
‘It’ figured that was where this was going, but hearing it stated that baldly… Guess nobody ever said Alex was one for mincing words.  
  
The Operator takes way too long thinking about its response for ‘It’s’ liking. “Yes.”  
  
Thanks for the faith, since apparently that's all that's keeping me alive right now.  
  
“Sarah, you're next,” Alex says. ‘It’ can't help but wonder what Alex is thinking right now.  
  
The third Operator from the left moves closer, like it's trying to get a better look at ‘It’. “The situation in the cargo bay was bad. None of us would have survived if it hadn't helped. And it destroyed a large number of the Typhon across the ship. That must be a good sign.” Sarah doesn't sound very certain of that statement.  
  
“Further, it thwarted Dahl’s attempt to use us as hostages. If it were one of my officers, I'd be giving it a commendation.”  
  
That is… weirdly touching.  
  
“Danielle? What do you say?” Alex sounds almost optimistic.  
  
The final Operator, the one furthest from the left and closest to Alex, speaks. “It found me. It didn't need to, but it did.  
  
“I asked it to stop Volunteer 37. That was dangerous. We can't be sure, but I think it has a sense of retribution.  
  
“A lot of humans controlled by the Typhon ended up dead-” The memory sends a chill through ‘It’. It had taken too long to realize what was going on. “-not that it was easy to avoid. But… I think it's worth the risk.”  
  
“In the end, it activated the Nullwave device… Despite the questions it posed to January. Why?”  
  
‘It’ is almost fooled into thinking they're addressing it directly until Igwe speaks again.  
  
“Did it want to preserve the Typhon technology? We cannot know what it was thinking, nor what its motives were for anything it did. We can only guess.”  
  
Or ask me, that's an option.  
  
“But we have to make a choice,” Alex says, as though reminding them of something they should already know. Then, instead of studying ‘It’ like a science experiment, he looks it square in the eye. “You can hear us, can't you? Here, I have something I want to show you.”  
  
Alex approaches and rotates the chair ‘It’ is seated in. When it stops the Operators are out of sight, replaced by a curving five by three wall of monitors. For the first time, ‘It’ looks down. Not much, just enough to see that its fingers, only minutes ago cloaked in the vibrantly alive color of Morgan's skin, are solid black. Typhon hands. ‘It’ shouldn't be surprised.  
  
“What you saw,” Alex begins, standing to the left, “Was a reconstruction based on Morgan's memories.  
  
“This,” he continues, the screens bursting to life before them, “Is the world today.”  
  
‘It’ thinks it would gasp if it could. The screen shows what would be a normal Earth city, were it not for the glowing golden Coral branching around, through, and inside of everything. If one didn't know what the Coral meant, it might have looked beautiful.  
  
The chair rotates away, Alex speaking once more. “We spent years trying to put what you can do into us. We never tried putting what we can do into you.  
  
“Until now. You can be the bridge between our species. But I need to know that you can see us. Really see us.” Alex is intense, focused in a way ‘It’ is only familiar with from Morgan's memories of Alex’s passion for scientific discovery. He moves until he's close, close enough for ‘It’ to reach over and touch him without much effort, then holds out his hand, palm up, welcoming.  
  
“Take my hand if you do.”  
  
‘It’ freezes. It looks at the Operators, who seem unsurprised. Was this planned? Would Alex really put himself at its mercy?  
  
Evidently, yes. He's still looking at it, hand offering… something. Becoming this bridge, maybe. Or being used as a lab rat. Lab Typhon.  
  
It realizes, in that moment, that killing them all would be pathetically easy. Disrupt the Operators, kill Alex using any of the many human weak spots, break out of the room, break out of the building. Then what? Kill humans, like the others of its species? Does it want that?

No. Whatever it is or isn't, it's not like the Typhon it has seen.

It moves, hand rising slowly, studying Alex. It's body changes, starting from the fingertips just touching Alex’s hand, cloaking it's Typhon body in the only human form it is familiar with.  
  
Only Alex’s hands aren’t there, and when it looks down it can see it’s fingers reaching through his skin.  
  
“Thank God,” Alex sighs, his voice coming not from the Alex in front of it, but emanating from several points throughout the room.  
  
It almost jerks away, almost does a lot of things, but forces itself to freeze instead. Movement might be interpreted as a threat.  
  
“Welcome to the American TranStar building. You're an employee of sorts, now.” Alex again, speaking like he’s distracted. The sound of paper shuffling comes over the speakers.  
  
‘It’ watches as the room fades into a large, perfectly square, perfectly white room. It is sparsely furnished, just a bed, desk and several chairs, one of which it is sitting on. The holographic Alex disappears, replaced by two humans in full tactical gear standing ten feet back with their guns aimed at ‘It’. Both step away, moving to stand against the wall, guns aimed in its direction the entire time. Three of the four Operators disappear, leaving only one hovering where Mikhaila had been.  
  
“Now, I have several questions for-”  
  
A cold, stern, familiar voice speaks over Alex. “Is this thing really the best you could do?”  
  
The last time it had heard that voice, it had been the recording of its owner ordering the killing of everyone on the Talos 1.  
  
“This is an immense leap forward,” Alex objects. “We have given a Typhon the ability to feel like we do-”  
  
“Yes, yes, I've heard this a thousand times,” William Yu says, cutting his son off again. “I still believe you are wasting my time and resources. After your failures with-.”  
  
The speakers abruptly cut off, and they don't come back on. ‘It’ catches movement from the corner of its eye, looking over to find the Operator that might be Mikhaila has moved closer.  
  
“Hello for the second time,” the Operator says, very distinctly not Mikhaila. The voice is January's - or Morgan's, it supposes. In ‘It’s’ defense, Operators do all pretty much look the same. “You can understand me, right?”  
  
‘It’ nods.  
  
“Can you not speak?”  
  
It shrugs. It really isn't sure.  
  
“I would advise trying. It _is_ one of your more important functions.” Good to see January is still a bit of an ass. Maybe it comes with being a computer.  
  
If they wanted it to talk, why hadn’t they made sure it was possible? Although considering Typhon don't speak, it doesn't really know if a Typhon/human hybrid can either. Then again, does it want to?  
  
Escape is still an option, even if it has no plan and no knowledge of this new version of Earth. Defiance would mean execution. Obedience meant life as something the world hasn't seen before, and humans don't like the unknown. Typhon don't either if the Nightmares are anything to go by. Another strike against escape then - an anomaly like it would be hunted down by the Nightmares in an instant.  
  
Leave, and become a killer of human and Typhon until one or the other takes it down, but live how it chooses to. Stay, and face an uncertain future, get answers to its questions, really meet the brother it never had.  
  
‘It’ reaches a decision. It wants to understand, and it already chose to trust Alex once. And, much like last time, it could always change its mind. Probably.  
  
“Are you planning to do something or sit there?” January asks.  
  
‘It’ hums, testing it's vocal chords. Seems normal to it. So it can speak then.  
  
What would its first word be? Human children's first words were important enough that parents often remembered them for the rest of their lives. As the official first ‘bridge between humanity and Typhon’ surely this word would carry far more significance, would be recorded in history textbooks across the ages, would shape how it would be seen. So much could rest on one single word.  
  
“Annoying,” ‘It’ says. Perfect. A little raspy, not quite human yet, but perfect.  
  
“What?”  
  
‘It’ grins. Near speechless January, that's rare. “Annoying.”  
  
“I'm afraid human communication requires a bit more than a single word. What is annoying, precisely?” Nice, he sounds angry.  
  
“You. Obviously.”  
  
‘It’ gets the impression January would be glaring at it if he could. “Lovely. Now see if you can graduate from first grade insults to full sentences.”  
  
“January, you are, without a doubt, one of the most annoying people I've ever met,” ‘It’ says, voice slowly merging into more human tones.  
  
January is silent for a solid minute, just studying ‘It’. When he finally speaks, it is slow and stern. “Morgan could get away with being an irreverent, disagreeable, sarcastic child because he was attractive, powerful, and rich. No matter whose skin you wear, you are not human. No one on this station will mourn if we have to dispose of one more unsuccessful Typhon/human experiment. I would advise you to remember that.”  
  
The words aren’t kind, but ‘It’ already knows January is right, and it was more a warning than a threat anyways. It had gotten away with its attitude on the Talos 1 recreation because it had been living in Morgan's memories. People liked Morgan. Nobody likes a Typhon.  
  
It decides to play it safe and just nods in acceptance. It isn’t afraid, not really. But it isn’t stupid either, and death isn’t high on its list of goals.  
  
“Don't go silent on me again, you'll be doing a lot more speaking soon. I have been instructed to answer your questions. Within reason, of course.”  
  
It has several, but one does come to mind first. “Do I have a name or an experiment number or something?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
January doesn't elaborate. ‘It’ asks, “What is it?”  
  
“You are experiment ABK-6.”  
  
“That's a mouthful. What does it mean?”  
  
“A is for Alex, as he is only one of the lead researchers working to produce successful hybrids. BK is Batch K, of which you were the sixth.”  
  
Wow, what a great name, ABK-6. Guess it's better than It though. “Is there a mirror somewhere?”  
  
“I believe there is one in the desk. Why?”  
  
ABK-6 looks to the guards. “Are they going to shoot me if I get up?”  
  
“Unless you make any threatening moves, no. Again, why do you need a mirror?”  
  
ABK-6 stands up slowly, watching the guards, who don't move. “I want to check something.”  
  
It stumbles as it starts walking, limbs not used to moving. It makes it to the desk and starts rifling through it. It finds the mirror, a little oval thing, next to other standard hygiene supplies. Do Typhon even need to brush their teeth?  
  
ABK-6 had been expecting it, but seeing Morgan's face is still an unnerving experience. He looks about like he had the one time it had seen his face - its face? - before everything had gone sideways. Handsome, dark brown eyes that look like they know too much, a few days of stubble on a face framed by straight black hair. Not even a hint of the Typhon hiding underneath the human mask.  
  
“January, where's the real Morgan?”  
  
“I am not permitted to answer.”  
  
“Is he dead?”  
  
“I am not permitted to answer.”  
  
“Is he a part of this experiment?”  
  
“I am not permitted to answer.”  
  
“What can you answer then?” ABK-6 snaps.  
  
“Many things.”  
  
Is it possible to strangle an Operator? ABK-6 is very tempted to find out. It takes a moment to think, focusing past the strange feeling of unreality. Is there any way it can find out what it wants to know?  
  
“Who can tell me about Morgan?” it asks.  
  
“Most people. I believe Alex wishes to speak with you directly instead of having your questions answered by others.”  
  
“Lovely. Alright. Should I continue to look like Morgan, or can I change my appearance?”  
  
January pauses, thinking. “It might be advisable to change that, yes. Are you capable of that?”  
  
“Good question. Better question, will those guys shoot me if I do?”  
  
“If they perceive you as a threat. I will inform them of your experiment so as to avoid any… misunderstandings.”  
  
January is gone and back before ABK-6 really has time to think. “I don't really know what humans look like. Most of the ones I've seen were dead. Any suggestions?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Ah, so helpful. ABK-6 casts around for useful memories, gathering what it knows. Keeping Morgan's skin tone is probably acceptable, and then it doesn't need to change eye or hair color. It thinks it knows that humans see women as less threatening than men. Whether the vanity was from Morgan's lingering memories or its own self, it wanted to look attractive. Mikhaila comes to mind, as does Sarah, but it doesn't want to look like another living person. Or dead ones.  
  
It's careful to keep the shifting of its form covered in human skin without allowing any Typhon black to seep through. No need to tempt any trigger happy guards.  
  
It is a bit difficult to invent an entirely new body. Even what feels like an hour later - although January's ‘helpful input’ might have made it seem longer than it was - ABK-6 can still see a bit of Morgan in its face. The eyes mostly, but he's there in other places too.  
  
“What do you think?” it asks January, turning its face to make sure the cheeks are even.  
  
“It is acceptable. You look human, if that is what you are asking. “  
  
“Guess that's all I can ask for,” it says, putting down the mirror. “So what now?”  
  
“We wait for Alex. I am sure you have more questions.”  
  
“Waiting, fun,” it says, silently berating itself for the sarcasm. “Alright then, tell me about you. Are you the same January I met before, or was that just a story?”  
  
“Yes and no. I am the second iteration of January. The first version was the one that you encountered in Morgan’s memories. When Morgan decided to trust Alex and use the Coral self-destruct, the first January attempted to stop him. It worked about as well as you saw. I was created using that January’s programming a few years after those events.”  
  
“A few years? Why wait so long?”  
  
“I am not permitted to tell you.”  
  
Of course not. “So why was Alex arguing with his dad?”  
  
“The board, most of whom are under William Yu’s thumb, have stated that Alex should not have direct contact with any of the experiments until they are proven safe. There is some disagreement as to the definition of safe between them.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Originally, when you were released from the simulation Alex planned to be there in person to ensure that your first interaction with humanity was a positive one. Obviously that didn’t pan out. Now that you’ve chosen to accept his offer and have not behaved violently, he believes he can convince the board members that he should be allowed to examine you directly.”  
  
“Why does he need to do that? He made me, didn’t he?”  
  
“He and his team did, but as Typhon can change their forms so easily, they believe they can gather more information from your current form. We are also unsure as to your abilities.”  
  
That… doesn’t quite make sense, but ABK-6 decides against objecting. January isn’t telling it something. Several somethings. Which means he’s been told to lie, and nothing else he will have to say is useful.  
  
“Alright then. How long will that take?”  
  
“I have no way of knowing. It could take an hour, it could take several.”  
  
“Great,” ABK-6 says, standing up and stretching. Turns out it isn't as satisfying when you don't have muscles. Disappointing. “I’ll be napping.”  
  
It had been expecting January to object, but he says nothing as it lays down with its arms folded behind its head and closes its eyes. It isn’t really tired, but it can’t think of anything else to do either. It’s also tired of thinking. Instead it just sort of zones out, somewhere in between reality and dreaming.  
  
  
  
  
“Hello again, ABK-6.”  
  
Alex’s voice interrupts ABK-6’s not quite nap. It sits up to find the room mostly unchanged since it laid down. January is gone, and the voice speaking is once again coming from wall mounted speakers.  
  
Right, probably time to speak. Somehow it is far more nervous to speak to Alex than with January. “Uh. Hello?”  
  
“So you can speak,” Alex says, pleased. “January had told me, but I was under the impression you sounded more, er, Typhon-like.”  
  
“I did at first.”  
  
“And you changed that because?”  
  
“I… don't know? It just seemed right?” ABK-6 hadn't even considered not adjusting that.  
  
“Interesting,” Alex says with the distracted voice of someone writing down notes. “You’ve also changed your appearance. Is there a reason you did not wish to appear as Morgan?”  
  
“I guess because I'm not Morgan. I'm just me. No need to confuse anyone.” Or make you see your probably dead brother any time you look at me, it doesn't add.  
  
“Fascinating,” Alex repeats. Another voice, too indistinct to make out the words, speaks. “Oh, my mistake. You must have questions of your own. What do you say we trade off? I ask you a question, you answer it, you get to ask a question.”  
  
“Sounds fine.” And suspicious.  
  
“Very well. Would you like to begin, as I have already asked several questions of you?”  
  
ABK-6 casts around for questions, finding more than it knows what to do with. Some are difficult to ask, others impossible, like ‘Why are you being so nice to a Typhon?’. “I already asked January, but he told me to ask you. Where is the real Morgan?”  
  
“January told me you already inferred the answer to that question. Morgan was killed in a surprise attack by a group of Phantoms and Poltergeists almost four years ago now.” Alex speaks like the words carry physical weight. “Does that answer your question?”  
  
“Yeah. Sorry. About Morgan. And the question,” it adds, feeling like it had pried into intensely personal business.  
  
“I knew you would ask eventually. My turn… In the simulation you set up both the Nullwave device and the self-destruct. Why did you choose to use the Nullwave device?”  
  
ABK-6 thinks for a moment before beginning. “A few things really. I didn't like January's plan because it didn't guarantee that the Typhon would die, only that they probably would. Since all of my options would result in me dying I went with the plan I thought was most likely to work, and if it didn’t I could always start the detonation sequence. Ultimately I guess I decided to trust you.”  
  
Silence. ABK-6 wonders if maybe it said something wrong. “Well. That's… Hm. Your turn.”  
  
“How much of what I saw was real?”  
  
“Most of the station itself went untouched. We made only a few alterations to Morgan's memory, most of them designed to prompt you in the direction of our tests. As far as the events of the Typhon escape, we were a bit more inventive. Morgan was immediately taken to one of the safe rooms, only leaving when no one else was able to get outside to scan the Coral Nodes, or qualified to activate the Nullwave device. Most of the people you ‘met’ were real employees, while most of their requests were designed by us as tests. Why did you believe that you would die either way in the simulation?”  
  
“January warned me that the more Typhon based mods I used, the more I would risk being seen as Typhon to things like the turrets. By the end the turrets read me as Typhon so I expected the device would do the same. I also kept seeing flashes of reality, you and the Operators leaning over me, referring to me as ‘it’ not ‘he’. I thought those were memories at the time. I assumed Morgan had died and I was created to replace him. It didn't really make sense, but it was all I could come up with,” ABK-6 says sheepishly. It seems so dumb in hindsight. “What did you make me to do? What did you mean by me being a ‘bridge between humanity and Typhon’?”  
  
“That's… interesting. My team and I are one of many groups working to create a more effective weapon against the Typhon. Despite many failures to communicate with the Typhon, I still believe we can get through to them. We just need to speak their language.”  
  
“Which is where I come in. But I don't know anything about being Typhon,” ABK-6 points out. “I only know how to kill them.”  
  
“You can learn. We'll work on it with you. If it is impossible then you're still a sympathetic Typhon. You were made with the best qualities of all Typhon breeds, more than we can safely put into purely human minds.”  
  
What a nice way to say ‘you're basically our weapon’.  
  
“In the simulation you chose to save almost all of those you could. Why?”  
  
ABK-6 doesn't actually know the answer to that. If a human saves other humans, they're a hero but it's assumed anyone else would have tried to do the same. “I guess I just knew they were in trouble and didn't deserve to die. I'd have to be heartless to leave them to die. Or you know, Typhon myself.”  
  
It imagines it can hear Alex nodding. “That is…”  
  
“Fascinating?”  
  
“I was about to say that, yes.” Alex sounds amused, and ABK-6 suddenly isn’t sure what they’re feeling.  
  
Focus. “Do I have a name? January told me I'm experiment ABK-6, but that's not really a name.”  
  
“Well, I’ve been calling you number six, but that isn’t a name either. Did you have something in mind?”  
  
“Six,” it echoes, testing the feel of the word. Not quite human, decidedly not the nameless Typhon, and not Morgan. “You know, I actually like that one. Is that okay?”  
  
“It’s fine. It is a pleasure, Six.”  
  
The sound of a factory standard ringtone comes over the speakers, followed by a quiet discussion.  
  
“I'm going to have to cut this short, Six. I have to notify several people that I have a subject to be tested next week, and it’s late. Or early, I guess. You should rest.”  
  
“Wait, I'm going to be tested?”  
  
“Yes, but we can discuss this later. Do you have any pressing needs?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Good to hear. I will speak to you later.”  
  
The speakers cut out, and Six doesn't bother trying to say farewell. They instead lean back in their chair. They have nothing to do until Alex summons them again, whenever that will be. The guards haven’t spoken yet, so they’re assuming neither of them will want to talk. Maybe Six can try talking to them later, once they’ve had a while to get used to them.  
  
It's a little strange to know that there will be a later. They had been ‘born’ into a world where the mug you tried to drink from could kill you, then thrust into reality, where they were judged for their every action and inaction. But now they have proved that they can be allowed to exist. So. What now?  
  
Today has been long enough, they decide. There's no light switch and they don't think they'd be allowed to turn off the lights if there were, but they're out of ideas and need to pass the time, so sleep it is. They settle into bed and close their eyes, ignoring the guards watching their every move, their uncertain future, their own confusing self.  
  
  
  
  
“Wake up,” a gruff, unfamiliar voice orders.  
  
Six is awake instantly and sitting up almost as quickly. The Guard who had spoken to them flinches back, the hand going for his gun only stopping when he sees that they aren't attacking. He then glares at them, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.  
  
“The bosses want you out in the training rooms,” he says.  
  
“Okay,” Six says, standing up. “Thanks.”  
  
The guard just grunts before guiding Six to one side of their room, the one the guards had stood at all night. It looks exactly like the other three. He is scanned as he stands there, and a four foot wide section falls away. Six is gestured forward as both guards fall into place behind them.  
  
The door only leads to a staircase descending into another perfect cube of a room. Six’s room is suspended in the center, the white walls and outer edges of the floor nearly covered in automatic weapons. A few are standard turrets, others what may have been flamethrowers, but most Six can’t identify. Maybe they wouldn't have been able to escape after all.  
  
Down the stairs and within the scanning radius of the turrets. “Scanning target… Typhon cross ABK-6. Standing down.”  
  
Every turret they pass eerily echoes those same words as the three of them walk along the only clear path. Another invisible door opens in the wall, and beyond it is a grey tiled hallway, the walls a pale cream that finally breaks the monotonous pure white scheme. Waiting there for them are a lot more guards. They move on an unseen signal, leading Six up two sets of stairs and around a corner. This room is marked with a large automatic sliding glass door. As it closes behind the group, the guards break into two groups and line up along the wall.  
  
The training room is cavernous. The ceiling is at least fifty feet above their head, the floor sprawling out so far that the back wall is a barely visible line in the distance. The rest of the room is entirely empty, just an enormous space stretching on to infinity.  
  
“Wednesday, March 28, 2045. Batch K number six has passed the simulation testing. Activation of mirror neurons confirmed, empathy quotient atypically high. Now beginning initial physical testing for experiment ABK-6. Title of subject will henceforth be shortened to Sbuject Six. Subject will indicate preparedness with a ‘Yes’ or a ‘No’. Is Subject Six prepared?”  
  
The voice speaking over the speakers is unfamiliar to Six, dry and clinical. They try not to feel disappointed that they aren't speaking to Alex directly. “Yes.”  
  
“Begin testing phase one. Experiment will be in environment twenty three, a simulation of the city. Subject Six is to reach its objective,” - a red flare shoots up diagonally to their left - “within thirty minutes. The simulation ends upon delivery of objective to drop off or subject being overwhelmed by the enemy, whichever is first. Simulation begins now.”  
  
As the tester speaks, the tiled floors and walls slide away, replaced by the dismal remains of a city. The floor underneath Six moves as well, placing Six near the center of the city. Some buildings are still standing, but most are laid out on the ground, bricks spilling onto the street. Six watches in mild awe as the false city shudders into place, then flinches as they hear Phantom voices from the surrounding buildings.  
  
“Did you hear that?”  
  
“You have to be completely silent.”  
  
“Go, run!”  
  
The snapping of an oncoming kinetic blast sends Six flying away, their body moving on instinct. The Phantom that delivered the attack is coming out of a crumbling building, only to be met with a kinetic blast from Six. It staggers and disappears. Nothing is left behind, not even body parts.  
  
Holograms then. There's a distant Weaver in front of Six, multiple Phantoms speaking nearby, and although they can't see them, Six knows that there are Mimics as well. Nothing they haven't dealt with before, but without any weapons? No shotgun, no pistol, not even a wrench. Maybe they could find something in the ruins? Mimicry would only go so far-  
  
Of course. They were thinking about the problem wrong. It wasn't ‘Can Six adapt and find weapons?’. The question was ‘Can Six be their own weapon?’.  
  
They look down, flexing their fingers, stripping away their human skin. They didn’t even think of putting their shoes back on before they came here, so only their socks are shredded as their toes become more useful clawed talons. They leap towards the sturdiest nearby building and start climbing. It's a little awkward, more of a leap and cling than a true climb, but it's working right up until their jump lands them face to face with a Thermal Phantom. The window between them is not a comfort. Six leaps away, claws sinking into stone that breaks instantly. It shatters into pieces and Six is sent into freefall. Instinct kicks in, Phantom like limbs extending from Six’s back and clinging to the lip of the roof. Physics send Six into the wall face first. They shake it off, testing the new limbs and using them to pull themself up and over the roof.  
  
They land on unsteady legs, stumbling. They can feel the twin pairs of tendrils extending from their back. They bring a hand up to feel them and find that their suit is torn.  
  
“Didn't know I could do that,” they mutter to themself, falling into the same bad habit they'd had in the simulation. They modify themselves, getting rid of the clawed feet so they can run faster, adding another set of tendrils to their back for a total of six.  
  
Their vantage point reveals that they really are surrounded. The streets are teeming with the Typhon holograms, too many to fight through easily. The buildings, although dilapidated, look to be its best bet. Far away they can see that one of the buildings is lit up in red. That’s their goal then.  
  
They back up to get a running start, hoping they know what they’re doing. Unfortunately the leap doesn’t get them far enough, and they once again crash hard into the side of a building. They climb the last few feet using their hands, then prepare to try again. This time they use too much upwards force and end up back on the street. Three Mimics leap out of nowhere, and Six has to duck to avoid the one flying at their head. Another dies to a Kinetic blast, then another to Six’s improvised claws. The last launches itself into the air again, aiming high. Six watches as its legs extend into the knife sharp blades they’ve seen kill more times than they can count, and suddenly they have an idea. One of their new appendages lengthens, hardens into a weapon and pierces through the Mimic.  
  
“Sweet.”  
  
They reach up with the Typhon limbs and stab into the stone of the building, testing their strength before putting their whole weight on it and launching themself skywards. They get halfway up the four story building in one leap, their next jump sending them flying up and onto the roof. They stagger, laughing, exhilarated. This is nothing like floating through space with a jetpack, it’s like freedom, like flying. They've never heard of a human doing that, flying through space on their power alone-  
  
_-Webs fly from the man on the screen and it’s like he’s a bird, swinging through the city. Morgan is in awe, so glad that his older brother had agreed to go with him so he could watch the new Spiderman movie-_  
  
Six comes back to themselves, confused, head aching. That was… not their memory. That was Morgan as a child. They shouldn’t have those memories. Right?  
  
They want to stop and think, but the screech of a Phantom makes them turn just as one emerges from the rooftop access behind them, so instead they shake it off. Questions for later. As usual.  
  
For now they make another running leap, putting all of their strength into their legs. It works only marginally better. They soar up and over their intended destination, wildly reaching for the top of another building. This time they avoid the crash landing and come to a stumbling stop on top of the building beside their intended destination. Not quite right, but definitely an improvement.  
  
They gather themselves and jump again. They land all wrong, rolling to a stop next to a torn, dirty sign, but they do land on the building they were aiming for. They leap to their feet, grinning triumphantly.  
  
“Fuck yeah!” they cry, punching the air. The cry echoes through the empty, rotting cityscape.  
  
Shaking their head to ignore the strange feeling of familiarity at the reminder, they keep going. They aren't perfect but they think they’ve almost got the hang of it by the time they reach their destination. The building is illuminated with red floodlights that shine into their eyes as they land on top of it. They don’t see anything on top of the building, looking around in confusion. They realize they can just barely hear a mechanical pinging coming from below them. They use their Typhon limbs to climb down the side of the building, stopping outside of the room the sound is coming from. Inside are almost two dozen identical black boxes. Mimics.  
  
An explosion might damage the contents of the box, so they shatter the glass and reach in only with the Typhon limbs. Four of the boxes immediately leap into action and attack only to be pierced by the limbs. Six picks off the rest in similar fashion until there’s a single box left. They grab it in a tendril, lifting themselves back up onto the roof. They’re inspecting the box when the red lights turn off, replaced with blue ones several blocks down.  
  
As they begin to leap, the bland scientist’s voice comes over the speakers once more. “Fifteen minutes remaining.”  
  
They’re nearly there when they’re forced to dig their heels in and stop. The spaces between the buildings before them are littered with Technopaths, Weavers, and corrupted Operators. A group of the Operators break off from the horde and begin advancing towards them. They fling themselves over the side of the building and cling to the opposite one. They cradle the black box under one arm as they crawl along the outer walls. They kill more Typhon as they advance, leaping and crawling along buildings until they’re illuminated by blue light. The space isn’t anything special, just another intersection, but it must be their destination.  
  
They let go of the building and fall to the road, sprinting the last few feet. As their feet cross into the intersection the Typhon holograms vanish.  
  
“Experiment Six completed the objective in twenty two minutes, thirty one seconds. Box and contents are intact. Twenty six Mimics killed, three Phantoms, one Etheric Phantom, one Weaver, and one Voltaic Phantom. Method unconventional but makes good use of skill set.”  
  
“More importantly,” Alex says, “Six, did you know you could do that, with the Typhon limbs?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Sean, Deanna, do you - leave the intercom on, they can hear this - do you think ABK-6 has a more fluid form than other Typhon, or simply the desire and need to utilize that fluidity?”  
  
A woman's voice responds first. “We have observed Phantoms climbing using a similar method to its first attempt, but no, none of them have ever altered their form to that extent.”  
  
“That doesn't necessarily mean they can't though,” another man chimes in.  
  
“I can think of many situations where such an ability would be beneficial. Why would they not use it if they could?”  
  
“Maybe it just never occurred to them? We have no idea how they think.”  
  
“Or when we made Six capable of taking a human form, we gave them more control of their form. We’ll have to test one of the Phantoms,” Alex says. “Let's move on to the next test. Quinten?”  
  
“Let me see… Continuation of initial physical testing. Subject will be in environment thirteen. The subject’s goal is to reach the top of the building while sustaining as little damage as possible. For the purposes of the test we ask Subject Six to assume they cannot climb up the outer walls. Is Subject Six prepared to begin?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
The floor shifts, walls rising from the floor and descending from the ceiling. Not a minute later the shifting sound of metal on metal ends, leaving an office building that stretches from the floor to the ceiling. It looks strangely lonely all by itself in the immense room.   
  
“Test scenario set. Testing begins in three… two… one.”  
  
The test isn't much different from the one before it or the three that follow. The Typhon holograms get in the way, they kill them, complete the objective, and move on. By the time they land on the rooftop containing the helicopter pad that is their objective they're exhausted, glad to be able to place the dummy they’d ‘rescued’ down.  
  
“Subject Six would have sustained heavy damage during the course of the rescue mission, but successfully brought their target to the goal mostly unharmed. Why did that happen Subject Six?”  
  
“I’m just tired,” they say, sitting down gratefully.  
  
“Understandable. You did well, Six. There is food for you inside of the helicopter. Once you're ready we’ll do the last few tests. Nothing strenuous, I promise,” Alex says.  
  
The helicopter turns out to be well stocked, albeit with more health conscious choices than they had made on Talos 1. They tear into the first thing they grab, barely tasting the sandwich. They've slowed down enough by their second sandwich to feel surprise that they can taste at all. Everything tastes like it had in the simulation, not that that really means anything. They were relatively sure that the food wasn't supposed to dissolve into their being as they chewed it, but decided it didn't really matter.  
  
Rejuvenated, they get out of the seat they'd taken in the helicopter to find that the building they'd been on had disappeared back into the depths of the training room. It was just plain white again.  
  
“Subject Six, are you ready to begin?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“You’ve demonstrated some Typhon abilities without accessing others. Is there a reason for this?”  
  
“Nothing specific. I just used what worked.”  
  
“To test for those abilities we will be moving you to a more secure location so that we may observe your performance directly. Follow the lit tiles.”  
  
The tiles are a dull blue and lead to another door disguised as a wall. Six is beginning to wonder if all walls aren't doors.  
  
Inside is yet another white room made of strangely shiny material, maybe forty square yards across. Six is wondering why they didn't just test them in the other room when the outermost white walls slide down, revealing the shiny layer to be walls made of a clear substance that can't possibly be glass. The clear cage is set in the center of a slightly larger, empty room.  
  
“Subject Six, prior to initiating testing we ask that you attempt to escape the room you are in. This is a test of the strength of the walls, not of your ability. You have five minutes.”  
  
Six walks to the wall and raps on it, causing a dull sound. Thick stuff then. They rear back and punch it full force, gaining nothing but temporary pain in their arm. The wall isn't scratched by their Typhon limbs, melted by their thermal attacks, or harmed by repeated kinetic blasting. They're both confused and impressed by the material as the voice comes back on the speakers.  
  
“That will be all, Subject Six. Do you believe you could break through this wall if given enough time?”  
  
Six moves back to the center of the room, rubbing their hand as they answer. “Maybe? I don't know what this stuff is but it can sure take a beating.”  
  
The voice doesn't reply, but the wall to their left opens to reveal an elevator. Exiting from the elevator is a group of humans dressed in white coats over TranStar uniforms along with several Operators. In the very front is the man Six has been most interested in seeing - Alex. The others are wary, hesitant, but he approaches the wall and stands directly in front of them. He says nothing, studying them as they study him. He looks much the same as the hologram they had seen yesterday - overworked, like he hadn't seen a bed in a week. The only real difference is that he actually looks a bit thinner than the one in the hologram. It isn't a good thinner, born of healthy eating and exercise, but instead born of the same thing that had created the bags under his eyes. Stress.  
  
When it becomes clear he isn't going to say anything, Six speaks first. “Nice to finally meet you, Alex. Mr. Yu? Uh...”  
  
“Just Alex is fine. Same to you, Six. Would you mind coming up to the glass? It is a bit strange to speak to someone standing twenty feet away.”  
  
Six eyes the scientists behind him, who as a whole appear either terrified, wary, or outright hostile. It makes sure to remember the faces of those falling into the last category. “You sure about that? Your friends might be more comfortable if I stay here.”  
  
“My colleagues are free to leave if they want to. They have to get over it if they want to work with you and I anyways.”  
  
Six walks very slowly to the glass, watching the humans. Two actually leave as they approach, and only a few will meet its eyes. Only Alex seems unaffected. He doesn't even appear worried when they finally stop a foot from their side of the glass. Two feet and a very tough wall is all that separates them now.  
  
“Much better. My apologies that our first meeting had to be like this, Six,” Alex says.  
  
“From my perspective, we've met many times before, on the Talos 1.”  
  
“The simulation was also a necessary evil.”  
  
“I understand why the precautions are necessary. I’d be afraid of me too if I were you.”  
  
“Wary and concerned perhaps, but not afraid. Fear can't be a part of a working relationship, as I have reminded my colleagues time and time again,” he says pointedly. The group behind him shifts, feet scuffing on the tile, but no one moves forward.  
  
“Like I said I didn't expect any different. I just have to prove myself, and that takes time. So what do you want me to do?”  
  
Alex looks at them oddly, like he's remembering something else. “The first tests are simple enough, but you'll need to be in your Typhon form for them.”  
  
“Can do.” Or at least they think they can. It had been easy enough with their hands and feet after all. They take a moment to really memorize their current form, hoping if they know it well enough they'll be able to replicate it when they change back. Then, they let go and change back. They're as tall as the Phantoms, a towering three feet above Alex, their facial features gone, the flowing skin of the Typhon covering them. The scientists react predictably, backing up or raising hands to hip holsters, but Alex doesn't so much as flinch. They can't help feeling grateful for that.  
  
“Good. Quinten?” Alex asks.  
  
Quinten turns out to be an older man with salt and pepper hair, skin a few tones darker than Alex’s. He’s wearing a gold band on his left ring finger and regarding Six with an equal mix of curiosity and wariness. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before looking down at the clipboard in his hands. “Very well. Continuation of testing of Subject Six, day one phase two. Tests are designed to gain an understanding of the Typhon related abilities of the subject. Is Subject Six ready to begin?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good. First, we simply need to you demonstrate the abilities you are aware you possess.”  
  
Six doesn’t really understand the point of showing them things they’ve already seen them do, but they comply. Abilities like mimicking, levitating things, and moving objects with their mind are impossible without objects to demonstrate on, but the researchers have apparently already thought about this. Sections of the floor fall away and are replaced by a multitude of boxes.  
  
After they’ve run out of the abilities they’re aware of, Quinten begins to list off others. Electrical resistance is very high, while fire resistance is low. Phantom shift - something Six hadn’t known they were capable of - turns out to be difficult but possible. They seem to possess most of the abilities available to Typhon, to varying degrees.  
  
Only one ability is neither mentioned nor tested for, and Six is immensely grateful. They almost don’t want to know if they can create a Phantom. If their creators skipped giving them that ability altogether, they’re grateful.  
  
Six is trying to execute multiple shifts in a row when Alex speaks again. “That’s enough. Six, how do you feel? Tired?”  
  
“Yeah. I could probably go for a bit longer before I’d need to stop though.”  
  
“We need to move onto the last part of the examinations for today. Igwe will be entering the testing room to look you over. We can’t be in the room with the door to the testing room open. Company policy, you know.” Alex’s expression makes it quite clear what he thinks of that particular rule. “We will return once the door is closed again.”  
  
The precautions would be funny if they weren’t put in place because they thought Six might murder everyone if given the slightest opportunity. They can’t decide if their feelings or their intellect is more insulted. All but one of the Operators enter the elevator with the human researchers. Once the elevator doors are closed, one of the clear walls retracts into the ceiling and Igwe enters the testing room, which seals itself behind him. He maintains a cautious distance.  
  
“Hello. I am Doctor Dayo Igwe,” he says.  
  
“I remember you, yeah. It’s… interesting to meet you outside of the simulation.”  
  
“I am sure our precautions seem overdone to you, but I assure you they were designed for the convenience and safety of all involved. I am going to scan you - please stand still.”  
  
Six complies, only their eyes moving to look as the elevator doors open again.  
  
“Very interesting,” Igwe says. “Your physical material is not like any other Typhon. Can you assume your human form?”  
  
Turns out returning to their created human form is as easy as using any of their other abilities. When they’re done he scans them again. “Are you aware of how this process works, or is it an instinctual change?”  
  
“I knew how to do it when I woke up, but I know how it works. Just bring whatever it is I’m made of closer together in the shape I want and alter the color. Not sure how that last part works.”  
  
“Very interesting. Can you please show me the, er, limbs you were using earlier?”  
  
Again they do what he says, he scans them, and moves on. His questions are ones Six hasn't even considered - can they assume other human forms, what about other Typhon forms, how they’re so easily able to mimic how a human body works. The other scientists occasionally chime in, Alex more often than the others. Six answers to the best of their ability but can tell it’s not as in depth as Igwe would like. Finally he moves on from them to questions about the simulation. Aside from the times they saw the real world, did anything else seem off? What was their opinion of the humans they’d met? Were the physical sensations comparable to reality?  
  
Six is starting to wonder if it will ever end when Alex says, “Igwe, remember the question we discussed before, about the interruptions we experienced on our end?”  
  
“Of course, of course,” Igwe says. “During the simulation, our technology was interrupted several times. It was as though some outside force was interfering. Did you experience any interruptions?”  
  
“I mentioned them before. I could see you guys standing over me. It was blurry and only lasted a second or two each time, but I did recognize Alex.” Six pauses, thinking.  
  
“Was that all?” Igwe prompts.  
  
“No, it’s just hard to put into words. The other images were… different. Like someone else wanted me to see them, maybe the guy who was talking to me. I don’t… hmm.”  
  
“Did you know the individual speaking to you?”  
  
Six shakes their head. “I’d never heard his voice before. Just give me a second here to think.”  
  
Igwe falls silent, letting Six remember.  
  
“I don’t know how to explain it. I didn’t know him, but it felt like I should have? It was bizarre. The images I was seeing were even weirder. Lots of images of Earth taken over by the Coral, eventually one from space. The Coral was stretching way out there, but in spikes, like antennae. Is that actually happening?”  
  
“It is,” Alex confirms. “Please continue.”  
  
“The other two were… One that I saw a few times was this image of being in space, surrounded by Typhon-ish limbs, sort of like really gnarled wood. It looked like I was inside of it or something. In the last one I was in a black space, I think as Morgan, and Typhon tentacles started flowing over my hands. It looked like they were coming from my torso or something. It was weird because it actually hurt. That was it, aside from him speaking.”  
  
“Alex, does this sound familiar to you?” Igwe asks.  
  
“No, it doesn’t. Six can you think of anything that might’ve put that idea in your head? It could have been your mind trying to figure out what was going on.”  
  
“No, I don’t- Wait! Morgan!” Six shouts, causing Igwe to hurriedly back up a few feet. Six winces - or would, if they had a face - feeling guilty. “Oh, shit, sorry. I just- Sorry.”  
  
“It is fine. My apologies as well,” Igwe says quickly, moving back to his previous location. “But please, do share what you have thought of with us. What does this mystery entity have to do with Morgan?”  
  
“In the simulation I found a Transcribe in Alex’s safe where Morgan was recording a message for his future self, after I’d already seen the space image. I can’t remember it exactly, but he said he kept having a dream where he’s looking into space and he can feel something out there. Something that hates us. That’s what he said, I mean. Could it have meant something? If it was real?”  
  
Igwe doesn’t answer for a long while. “I do not know. When the Typhon Neuromods were being removed and re-inserted, Morgan went through several periods where he was intensely paranoid. We had dismissed his warnings before… Alex?”  
  
“It’s not a bad theory. We did pull the TranScribe messages from Morgan’s memories, so it was something he experienced as well. Some recipients of the Typhon Neuromods became similarly paranoid, but by the time we had a large testing pool everyone had good reason to be. Six, do you remember what it said specifically?”  
  
“Absolutely. It was… hard to forget. The first time I heard him he said ‘Don’t let them do this to you.’ It was an order, I think. He sounded angry.”  
  
“You say he - are you confident in that assumption?” Igwe asks.  
  
“Yes. Definitely male.” It isn't the sound of his voice that makes them so certain - they just know.  
  
“What about the other times?” Alex asks. His attention is focused entirely on Six, and most of the scientists with him have come forward as well.  
  
“The next time he said ‘You’re not what they say you are.’ It was less angry, more like he was trying to convince me. Then I was knocked out when I jettisoned myself into space, and he said ‘They’re afraid.’ like he thought that was derogatory.”  
  
“Allow me to interrupt again,” Igwe says. “Who was he referring to when he said ‘they’?”  
  
“You guys,” Six says without hesitation. “I thought he meant the people on Talos 1, but it makes a lot more sense if he was talking about you.”  
  
“But how did he know we exist?”  
  
“That is… a good question. I don’t know,” Six confesses.  
  
“We can sort that out later,” Alex says. “Is there more?”  
  
“Two. These were near the end. He said ‘They’re lying to you.’ The last time he spoke was when I set up the Nullwave. ‘Kill them.’.”  
  
“Were those more orders?” Alex asks.  
  
“Not really. It was more like he’d made an argument and was just restating the obvious conclusion. Morgan was right. Whatever he is, he hates humanity.”  
  
“But you did not obey. You chose to join us. Why?” Igwe asks.  
  
Six shrugs. “I didn’t have to obey him. He could say whatever he wanted - I was making my own choices. I don’t want to kill anyone, so I haven’t.”  
  
“Thank you for the detailed information, Six. That will be all we require of you today. Igwe will escort you to your room,” Alex says. “From here we will be training you for the tests next week. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more - they’re intended to be a true test of reactions. Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.”  
  
Six nods. “See you later boss.”  
  
Once the scientists have left, one wall slides away to allow access to yet another hallway. Six follows Igwe out and down the corridor. He doesn’t speak, so they break the silence.  
  
“Can I ask you something?”  
  
“That depends on the question.”  
  
“You, Mikhaila and Sarah - are you just copies of the humans here to replace them while they’re off doing something else? Or…?”  
  
“If you are asking whether or not our human bodies are dead, then yes. The Typhon have not been kind to the human population.”  
  
The news is strangely distressing. “But that makes no sense! You were a top scientist, surely you were protected by TranStar. Sarah was their head of security. Mikhaila was- Uh. Maybe not as hard to believe.”  
  
“Is it really so strange? Morgan Yu was the son of two TranStar board directors on top of being brilliant and physically fit. If someone with all of those qualities could be killed, why not the rest of us?”  
  
Six is struck dumb. “But- then how is anyone alive? How are we standing here talking about this?”  
  
“Rapid advancement and the preservation and perfecting of the technology employed on Talos 1. I would say luck had a hand as well. I would not exactly say that I am standing here either.”  
  
“Right. Sorry, that was probably insensitive of me, wasn’t it?”  
  
“To others maybe, but I find this form to be a great deal more convenient. There are drawbacks, but does anything truly not have a downside?”  
  
“I guess so,” Six says, privately thinking they’d hate being an Operator.  
  
The two of them reach the doorway into the room of Turrets and Igwe stops. “Here is where I leave you. I had my concerns, but I think Alex was right about you.”  
  
“Right,” Six says, at a loss for words. The conversation felt... odd. “I’ll be going then.”  
  
“I will be seeing you tomorrow.”  
  
“See you.”  
  
Back through the field of turrets, and they notice that a few of the guards from before are lined up along the walls and beside the stairs. They’re pleasantly surprised to find that they’re alone in their room when they enter it. The wall behind their bed now has a door. Through it they can see a sink and a shower curtain. Thoughtful of them. Behind them, the door seals itself as tightly as before, but it’s still an improvement. There’s even a light switch where the guards had been standing.  
  
“Nobody to look at me funny when I talk to myself,” they say, to themself.  
  
There isn’t really anything to do though, they note as they look around the room. They could test themself, see what they could do, but they don’t want to cause damage to the room. They nearly settle down to sleep, but the clock on the wall says it’s only a few minutes to four. They don’t think they can sleep for sixteen hours or so.  
  
They sit down at their desk instead. If Alex had a hand in the set up, maybe he’d thought of the fact that they had nothing to do?  
  
They pick a side and start digging through the drawers. The hygiene products from before, one dedicated to writing supplies, another that was entirely empty. Finally, in the second to last drawer, they find a box of cards and a few larger cardboard boxes.  
  
The cards aren’t particularly interesting to them. They try to remember if any of their memories from Morgan might help as they turn the box over. The front is a stylized spade-  
  
_“Come on, I’ll teach you,” Alex coaxes. He looks young, maybe in his late teens._  
  
_“Fine, but if it’s boring I’m gonna be mad!” Morgan says._  
  
_“Oh come on, have a little faith in your big brother. You’ll love Speed.”_  
  
Six holds a hand to their head, groaning. That hurt damn it! It wasn’t helpful either - they'd need another person to play Speed.  
  
“Why am I remembering Morgan’s memories?” they mutter under their breath, staring hard at nothing. Were they intended to get Morgan’s memories, or is this some kind of side effect? Would telling someone be wise? Morgan’s memories were sure to contain secrets, even if they are from years ago.  
  
They don’t know. Their head feels too full, like the things they’ve learned in the last twenty four hours are taking up physical space. They put the cards back and pull out one of the boxes. It’s a puzzle, the kind with a million tiny pieces. There isn’t a picture on the front, oddly enough. Just the words “Waterfront View”.  
  
“Nothing better to do.”  
  
There’s something relaxing about taking the chaotic tangle of pieces and putting them into order, even if they often find themself at a dead end without the piece they’re looking for. They can’t even seem to find all of the corners, but they can and do put together parts of what they’re pretty sure is the top. They assume both the top and the bottom would be blue but they think the white bits are clouds. Maybe.  
  
When they look up to check the time, it’s suddenly sprung forward six hours. They’re beginning to get frustrated - knowing what they were intended to be putting together would be much appreciated - so they get up and walk to the new addition. As they’d thought it’s a bathroom, outfitted with things they aren’t sure they actually need. A sink, sure, but a toilet? Heck, do they even need a shower? Typhon don’t sweat.  
  
They turn on the sink, running water over their hands. Curious, they return their arms to their Typhon form. The water runs over their fingers just like before, but the feel of it is muted. Drawing more of their physical matter up to the surface of their skin amplifies the feeling. It’s nice, bringing to mind swimming, a pool, laughter, a bright yellow and blue beach ball- And that’s not their memory. They sigh, leaning their head on the mirror above the sink. Separating Six from Morgan might be a little harder than they’d first thought.

 

  
  
Alex is sitting in front of his wall of monitors when Igwe enters. He doesn’t notice the Operator immediately, focused on the screens. Igwe moves closer, taking in the monitors. Those closest to Alex are filled with identical white rooms. On the center screen, ABK-6 is sorting through puzzle pieces. It really is very interesting how closely they mimic human habits. Igwe makes a sound close to a human clearing their throat to get Alex’s attention.  
  
Alex turns to him. “Good job, Igwe. You were convincing.”  
  
“As were you. Do you think it will buy it?”  
  
“They. If you use ‘it’ whenever you’re not around them you’ll mess it up in front of them sooner or later. And yes, if we’re careful they’ll believe we’re their allies. Hopefully,” Alex says, sighing.  
  
“If not, it will be a great disappointment. They are the first that we have created to achieve this degree of success. Unless any of the ABM were successful?”  
  
“All dead. The Typhon base still won’t reliably take on the human cells. ABK-6 is our best bet.”  
  
“I am impressed, to be honest. They were much better at acting human than our previous successes. I had thought ABH-3 was as good as we were going to get. Speaking of, how is it doing?”  
  
“Still failing the simulations. It’s just had its Neuromod stripped, so we’ll see if it can finally pass in a few days.”  
  
“Is it the same problem as before?” Igwe asks, hovering closer to the monitors. The monitor to the right of ABK-6 is no different from every other time he’s seen it. ABH-3 is still seated in the simulation chair as it has been since it was put there more than a month ago.  
  
“It is. It consistently takes the private escape pod when given the option. We moved the event sequence to later in the timeline and there’s been no change. Only good news is it hasn’t killed any humans, but we haven’t figured out what that means either.”  
  
“It may be time to scrap it. We could use the materials.”  
  
“It’s too valuable to be scrapped now. I want to give it some more time while we focus on ABK-6. I’ll send a squad out to gather materials tomorrow morning, we’ll get the Typhon material that way.”  
  
“If I may, I would advise against placing too much hope in ABK-6. It- They are still unpredictable. And if the board gets any more involved than they are I fear we will lose it to them.”  
  
“I can handle my parents. They’re used to using fear and pain to keep people in line anyways. If there’s as much of Morgan in ABK-6 as I believe there is, they won’t react well to that. We have the upper hand. We just need to keep it.”  
  
“Has ABK-6 shown signs of possessing Morgan’s memories?”  
  
“The chip’s sent me a few records of abnormal neural signals. They don’t react beyond pausing for a few seconds, but I’d say that’s enough to confirm memory transfer. They haven’t mentioned it though. I worry that means they don’t fully trust us.”  
  
“A little wariness is not a bad thing. If we are to trust them to make decisions on their own we will need to know their judgement is sound.”  
  
“Of course, but we need their complete trust. I haven’t sunk millions of dollars in resources and time into this to lose my experiments to anyone else.”  
  
“We have accounted for this already, and your acting is convincing. We cannot fail.”  
  
“I certainly hope so.”  
  
“I trust your judgement, Alex.”  
  
“That’s all I can ask.”

 

  
  
  
The next day’s testing is mostly just more scenarios. Alex tells them that, after they’ve proven themself capable, they’ll be sent on the same kinds of missions that the other guards and army members are. The tests are apparently very similar to their typical jobs.  
  
After a few of the same type of tests as before, their strength is tested. They’re asked to lift increasingly heavy objects, then increasingly unwieldy ones. They max out at about seven hundred pounds, nearly crushing themself in the process. A twenty foot square brick wall is also beyond them, falling to pieces despite their efforts. As they follow the blue tiles back to the testing room from yesterday, they note that they aren’t sore in the way a human would be. It’s more of a whole body ache and some tiredness than focused pains or torn muscles.  
  
The next set of tests are physically easier. They’re instructed to do specific things with their powers, something about testing their control. They’re actually bored by the time they reach their last test of the day.  
  
Quinten’s flat monotone finally hesitates, voice betraying some conflict. “This next test is… a bit sensitive. I believe Alex would explain it far better than I.”  
  
Alex accepts the clipboard, nodding as he reads. “Good call. Six, the next test is to see if you can create Phantoms.”  
  
Six would say something, but they’re frozen, a rabbit pinned by a dog.  
  
“The test is just to see if you believe you are capable. We aren’t asking you to actually create a Phantom. We’d much prefer you didn’t. If you would like to put off this test for another day we can, but it’s got to be done,” Alex continues. He’s coaxing them, trying to calm them down.  
  
“I would much rather not,” they finally say. “Why is it necessary?”  
  
“We need full knowledge of your abilities. You might need to use the ability someday.”  
  
Six shudders, memories of the Weavers creating Phantoms replaying in their mind. “I won’t make a Phantom. I won’t. But… if you need to know if I can, I’ll do the test.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear it.”  
  
A section of the floor falls away, chilled air flowing over Six’s feet. An examination table rises from the hole, and on it is the other subject of the test. He’s young, maybe in his mid twenties. Brown hair and pale skin, but that could be because he’s dead. Mercifully, his eyes are closed. Six is more than reluctant to approach.  
  
“Test of Typhon abilities, final stage. Subject Six will attempt to discover if they can transform a volunteer test body into a Phantom.”  
  
Six looks up sharply. “Volunteer. Like the ones on Talos One?”  
  
Alex shakes his head. “I understand your reservations, but no. Once the Typhon made their way to Earth the majority of humanity agreed to be used as test subjects upon death.”  
  
Six looks down at the man on the table, uneasy. Alex could too easily be lying. Six shakes their head to clear it, approaching the body. They’ve either got to trust Alex or not. Constantly questioning his honesty would get them nowhere.  
  
Up close they can see the cause of death - the mortician hadn’t bothered to put him into new clothing, only sew together the gashes as best they could. Definitely death by Typhon, unless large bears were running around nearby. For a moment they wonder if the last thing the man had seen as a Typhon arm just like theirs. Doing this in their Typhon form feels somehow worse than as a human, but would that alter the outcome?  
  
“Six?” Alex asks, bringing their focus back to the task at hand.  
  
“Just… thinking.” They have no idea what to do but stare at the body, completely out of their depth. All they have to go off of is the way that the Weavers had looked when they did it. They’d definitely been touching the bodies.  
  
Six reaches out hesitantly, barely skimming the icy cold skin. Nothing. Their hand hovers over the body before they reach down and take hold of the man’s hand. Still cold, but then again they can’t feel it like they would if they were in their human form. The first thing Six notices is how stiff the fingers are, like they would snap off if they weren’t careful. The next thing that they notice is that they feel exactly the same as before, only now they’re holding a dead guy’s hand. Great.  
  
To distract themselves, they ask, “What was his name?”  
  
“I believe this is test subject V-9750384-9006. His name was Ethan Anderson,” Quinten answers. “Is this relevant?”  
  
“Probably not,” they confess, moving their hand back to their side. “I don’t know how to do this. Anyone have suggestions?”  
  
To their surprise, a woman who hasn’t spoken before steps up to the glass. “I have studied the Weavers the most of everyone here. You may have been on the right track by touching him - I believe the mind is of the most importance in this experiment. I would recommend touching his head instead of his arm.”  
  
Six wants to complain, but they did agree to try. “Sorry about this, Ethan,” they whisper under their breath, hand descending to cover his forehead. They're still wracking their brain for some indicator of what to do next. They refocus on Ethan, passively evaluating their abilities to see if anything jumps out at them. Something beckons, and they tap into it.  
  
_Breath frozen in their chest, straining every sense. They haven’t been able to hear the monster since Kiara died screaming for them, and they couldn’t do anything, couldn’t move with their feet frozen to the floor-_  
  
_Black and white and red and pain, pain, **pain**._  
  
_Nothing._  
  
Six screeches, a sound that’s entirely Typhon, falling in their haste to get away from the body. The scientists are in an uproar, questions assaulting their ears, phantom pains all along their torso, hand chilled to the core.  
  
They’re horrified, stock still like Ethan on the table. Ethan, who’d heard his wife die. Ethan, with a baby boy back in the safe zone with his mother who would never know either of his parents. Ethan, who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  
  
“-ix! Six!” Alex sounds frustrated, like he’s been trying to get their attention for a while. They finally look up at him, seeing the fear in everyone’s eyes. They’ve all backed up a ways from the glass. Ethan is lying as still as ever, no white eyes, no moving skin.  
  
“What just happened?” Alex demands.  
  
“I-I don’t know. I mean I do, but I don’t? I was- He was just doing a routine sweep, there shouldn’t have been anything there, it was the safe zone, why was it there-”  
  
“Six! Focus. We don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“I do,” another researcher says. He looks startled to have everyone’s eyes on him, tugging on his sleeve. “I was the one that chose this particular body. The volunteer, number 9006, was a part of TranStar’s army. He and his wife were both killed in the safe zone. Their equipment malfunctioned and they weren’t prepared for the attack.”  
  
“Kiara. His wife was Kiara,” Six says, still in shock.  
  
“It was,” the researcher confirms. “And Subject Six has no way of knowing that.”  
  
“What happened exactly?” Alex asks Six.  
  
“I don’t know. I was trying to do what you wanted, and all of the sudden I was reliving the last seconds of Ethan’s life. He was so scared.”  
  
Alex and the others murmur among themselves for a long time as Six slowly calms down. They can’t help wondering how many other people had met the same fate as Ethan, how many kids were made orphans, how many spouses had lost their partners. It’s heartbreakingly sad.  
  
Something hot and liquid hits their hand, and they raise the hand that hadn’t touched Ethan to find that they’re crying. It’s a black liquid thicker than any human tear they’ve ever seen, but it is a tear, and more are falling, blending into their skin so no one can see.  
  
“Six, we are going to call an early end to the testing for today. Just one final question - do you think you could make him a Phantom?” Alex asks. He sounds shaken.  
  
The question feels… wrong, even considering the answer makes the skin they don’t have crawl. “I think so. I’m almost positive.”  
  
“Very good. The information we’ve gathered should be enough to work on developing your abilities more directly. An Operator will guide you back to your room once we have left.”  
  
The unfamiliar Operator doesn’t talk, just floating silently in front of Six the entire way. They’re glad, if they’re being honest. They aren’t sure they want to talk.  
  
Back in their room they immediately go to the sink, washing their hand thoroughly. They imagine they can still feel the chillled skin under their hand. They imagine they can still hear Kiara screaming. The memories aren’t complete, not like the Coral collecting the life experiences of those killed by the Typhon. They’re broken up, indistinct, the last thoughts of a dead man.

They seem to have a lot of those.

Unable to get the chill out of their arm they turn the shower on as hot as it will go, enough that it’s uncomfortable even against their insensitive Typhon form. They try not to think, just exist.  
  
_Don’t think, exist. Ignore the heavy feeling in your chest, the voices whispering your failures. Just steam in your lungs, hot water running down your back, cold, wet tile against your forehead, the sweet scent of soap hanging in the air, the water in your hair dripping down your neck._  
  
_You can do this Morgan. You have to._  
  
For the first time Six is glad for the alien memories in their head. It’s a welcome distraction, enough to dispel the last of the remembered chill. They leave the shower and are almost surprised to see a Typhon staring back at them from the mirror. Had they really walked through the building like that? Talk about a death wish.  
  
They sit at the desk as a human once more, picking through colored pieces as they think. It’s strange how much and how little they know about Morgan. The man in the videos was confusing. First cocky, high on his new Typhon abilities and the belief that he could not fail. Then solemn, bitter and resigned, preparing himself to fight against his own brother. The Morgan speaking to them from the TranScribe in Alex’s safe was horrified, trying to warn someone that wasn't really him of a threat only he knew about, knowing nobody would believe him. January, the Operator made from Morgan’s memories, was helpful if somewhat self-centered and very stubborn. And now this new Morgan, wracked with guilt and bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders.  
  
Were any of them actually Morgan? Which was the truest version? Was there one?  
  
Six realizes that they’ve been staring at the same puzzle piece for who knows how long and places it into the puzzle. They’d been wrong yesterday - the water had been reflecting a cloud floating above. Unless rowboats were commonly found in the sky.  
  
They don’t know the answer to their questions. They can’t ask Alex or anyone else on the station either. These were Morgan’s private thoughts, and Alex had made it clear which Morgan he believed was the real one when he said he wanted his brother back. January had thought it was whichever version was the most recent. They wonder if, in a way, that means they are Morgan. They don’t feel like Morgan.  
  
Six strips away their human skin, watching the strangely hypnotizing play of black and white that is their real skin. No, they aren’t Morgan. Morgan was human. Morgan knew what he was. They still aren’t sure. Were they Typhon pretending to be human? The humans they had met certainly thought so. A human pretending to be Typhon? The Nightmares would think so.  
  
They give up on puzzle solving for the night and turn off the light before falling onto the bed. They don’t have answers. They don’t know what they are, or who Morgan was, or the answers to any of the other questions filling their mind. Time would see those answered. They’re sure of it.


	2. Six Isn't a Lot of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't expect to write a chapter this long, but here's all 23021 words of chapter two. Let's hope making each chapter 10k words longer than the last doesn't become a pattern...
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Self-harm both past and present, past shitty parenting, heavy injuries to Six, and prejudice because people don't like what they don't understand.

Their first week of life is packed with learning for Six. They’re always either sleeping, being trained, or doing tests. The tests range from things like measuring their flexibility to whether or not they need to breathe. The answers were that when lacking bones, ligaments, organs, or really anything else that shouldn’t be compressed or bent backwards, one can do pretty much whatever comes to mind - including becoming a literal Typhon pretzel because why not - and probably not. They did have fun swimming in the giant tank of water though.

The testing is generally entertaining, or at least a welcome break from the boredom of their bedroom. It’s the training that grinds their nerves down to frayed bits. They can’t practice on real Typhon because the facility has a Typhon cap and most are being used for research, but when the Typhon holograms are enhanced with Operators designed to mimic their attacks, Six’s runs through the simulated city becomes much less fun. Alex reassures them that the Operators can be shut down with a single button but that’s a small comfort when they’re sprinting away from arcs of electricity.

The Operators are one thing. Sarah Elazar is another one entirely. Intense doesn’t even begin to cover it. The first time they see her she’s just there to observe, watching everything with steely eyes. They duck and dodge behind cars and debris, shooting at Operators and avoiding the holographic humans. They thought they'd done well, since only one of the ‘humans’ had been hit, and it was only a minor shot to their lower arm, easily recovered from if given proper medical treatment.

Sarah had left without comment. The next day she’d shown up and immediately begun snapping orders at them. They were drilled in gun safety, how to clean and maintain their own weapons, and then given a set of still targets. When they’d asked why cleaning was an essential skill, they’d gotten a lecture on questioning a commanding officer and were then informed that no one was paid to “wipe their ass for them”. Six stopped asking questions after that. They’d had to force themself not to remind Sarah that the chance of them getting to shoot a nice, still target was, if not absolute zero, then only a few decimal points away. On the rare occasions that Sarah has nothing to say about their form or complete disregard for safety, Six takes rather savage pleasure in her lack of criticism about their aim. By the time they’re nearing the end of the second day they’re about ready to see if shooting their instructor in her smug metal face will shut her up.

“Again!” Sarah barks.

Six grits their teeth, holding back snippy commentary. They roll their shoulders, repositioning themself. Feet shoulder width apart, arms straight, one hand positioned to pull the trigger, the other grasping the gun and firming the position of the other hand-

“Stop!”

“I haven’t even shot anything yet!” Six snaps.

“Watch your mouth, experiment. What was rule number one?”

“Uh… Don’t point the gun at anything you’re not willing to destroy?”

“That is rule two. I said rule one,” Sarah corrects, voice about as warm as a blizzard.

“Right. Sorry. Rule one was… Treat the gun like it’s always primed to shoot?”

“Rule one.”

That leaves the one they can never remember, and, “Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to shoot?”

“And what didn’t you do?”

“Wait until I was ready to shoot to put my finger on the trigger,” Six says for what feels like the millionth time that day. They’re almost positive at this point that the woman is just making up things to criticize them for.

“Right. Take your stance and try that again.”

Six goes through their same mental checklist and brings the pistol up expecting to hear another sharp order to stop, but none come. The next sound to interrupt the silence is the ringing of a gunshot, followed by nine more. The first shot went high, piercing the target’s shoulder, but the rest all hit it in its torso, the holes clustered tightly together. No matter what Sarah has had to say about the simulation giving them bad habits they know that was very good. Six lowers the gun into resting position and dares to look over at Sarah Elazar. The other isn’t looking at them, instead watching as they bring the gun to a resting position.

“You didn’t aim it at your feet this time. Good. You and I both know your aim is fine - don’t let that make you cocky. Get your gun safety down fast or you’re going to shoot someone you don’t want to. Not all of us can recover from a bullet as quickly as you.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“You’d better be. If you can manage to remember all of the rules, you’ll do fine. I’ll be taking the gun,” she says, holding out a metal hand. Six remembers at the last moment to shift the gun so they’re holding it nose down to hand it to her, earning a nod of approval.

Sarah turns and starts walking to the door. There’s no one there to dismiss them this time, the researchers long gone since there’s nothing of use to them in Six’s lessons in gun handling. As the only person left who isn’t one of the entry level guards that hang out by the walls any time Six is in the room, it falls on Sarah to ‘guide’ Six to their room. They could have easily made the trek on their own after the second day, but they quickly realized that making sure they didn’t get lost was never the point of their ‘guides’. Whether they are acting more as their jailers or their bodyguards Six still isn't sure. If the former, they’re rather disappointed that everyone has so little faith in them. And if the latter… well, Six is always sure to stay close to and behind whoever is taking them back to their room.

Once training and testing are over they spend the rest of the day in their room, the only real break in the monotony the delivery of ration bars for dinner. They’re usually accompanied by fruit or some other treat. Six doesn’t know the exact state of the world, but the ration bars give them a good idea. Food is scarce, even here. The ration bars do teach them something useful though. The bars are mild in flavor but leave a faint, unpleasant taste of chemicals behind. Six discovers early on that if the food touches any part of their body it can be absorbed without them tasting it. This leads to them poking holes in a few of the things in their room testing their weird body. Sheets? Digestible, but almost no energy. An edge of one cardboard box? Also digestible. The metal flooring? Completely unaffected. They even test it on themself, glad to find it doesn’t work. They then promise themself they’ll be very, very careful if they ever come into physical contact with a human.

Mostly though, they’re bored. The puzzle is only so interesting, even if they are almost halfway through at this point. They’re tired of working on it constantly, and they end up trying to make a tower out of their playing cards. It’s mostly just frustrating, but it takes up time until they feel like sleeping.

Their days are generally unremarkable despite these discoveries. Even the test objectives can only be so varied. That is, at least until they near the middle of the tests on the seventh day.

Six glances around the wall just long enough to focus their thermal blast, finally earning the sound of a dying turret. They grab the briefcase beside them and leap around the corner, feet flying over the twisted, melted remains of turrets littering the ground. The blue light of the objective washes over them and the testing room begins to reset. Six takes the time to rest, watching as entire buildings are swallowed into the murky black that is the space underneath them. They’re intensely curious about where the props come from and who works on them, but nobody’s bothered to tell them and they still aren’t sure if they’re allowed to ask.

“Subject Six, we will be ending this portion of the training early in light of the next phase of tests for the day. Please follow the lit tiles.”

Six isn’t sure they like the sound of tests that take importance over their usual training, but they follow the lights as ordered. The room looks the same as ever, empty and white. They look to the elevator doors and watch as the researchers enter the room. The numbers have generally dwindled following the initial round of testing, but today the elevator opens to reveal only two people. An older Chinese man in an immaculate suit who looks like he’s never had a moment of fun in his life, closely followed by Alex. Behind them, the elevator doors close and begin to rise once more, but Six keeps their focus on the man approaching the glass walls. Like his son, he approaches the glass and stands directly in front of it. Despite his age, his shoulders are unbent, his eyes clear. For just a moment, a younger man who looks no less threatening replaces the real one.

Really not the time Morgan.

William Yu doesn’t look pleased by what he sees. “I fail to see why you believe this one is a success, Alex.”

“You have seen the reports,” Alex responds, more formally than they’re familiar with. He is dressed in his usual TranStar uniform, but he’s adopted his father’s stiff posture and expressionless face. Even if they know that Alex normally wouldn’t be staring them down like this, it’s still disconcerting. “ABK-6 has shown promise. No one else can do what I have, Father.”

“You’re a Yu. Of course you succeeded. I only question why, and if it is really worth either of our time. It can speak, can’t it?” William Yu meets their eyes, and Alex’s response is lost as memories flood their mind.

_“Yu’s do not fail classes, Morgan. Especially when those classes are as pathetically below us as AP World History. This incident will not be repeated,” his father says icily. His expression clearly conveys his disdain._

_“Of course, Father.”_

_“Get out of my sight. You will remain in your room until school on Monday.”_

_“Of course, Father.”_

_Morgan turns, shoulders squared, posture perfect as he exits his father's home office. Only once he's out of sight does he allow his teeth to lock together, fists clenching until his fingernails draw blood from his palms. It takes all of his focus to not slam his bedroom door shut. Inside he stands, breathing heavily as his father's words echo in his head until it's too much to bear. The thick, soundproofed wall barely makes a sound as Morgan punches it as hard as he can. Once, twice, again. It feels like his hand is broken, the scabs between his knuckles reopened. He's bent double, clenching his teeth so he doesn't shout as he waits out the pain._

_When it finally fades to a burning throb he collapses onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He hates him. He **hates** him. If his father fell over dead tomorrow he'd throw a fucking **party**. If Mother keeled over too he might just **die** of joy._

_On what goddamn planet is a fucking B a failing grade?!_

_The thought sends another wave of fury-hate-shame down his spine and he squeezes his eyes shut against the tears. His throat feels tight but he's not giving that bastard the satisfaction of making him cry even if he'll never know. He presses his knuckles together, the rapidly swelling skin screaming in pain, until everything he's feeling is wiped away by the pain._

_He's still lying there when there’s a soft knock on his door a few hours later. “It's me. Mom and Dad are gone - a business meeting or something. I brought you dinner.”_

_“I don't want it,” Morgan says._

_“Yes you do. Can I come in?”_

_Morgan groans. “You're a dick.”_

_“I could've left you to starve,” Alex points out as he comes in, closing the door softly behind him._

_“You wouldn't do that to your favorite brother.” The familiarity of their conversation is as bizarrely comforting as ever._

_“You're my only brother,” Alex responds, handing Morgan a plate and taking a seat on his bed._

_“Mmphh,” he responds, the reheated pasta already in his mouth._

_Alex looks amused, like he's going to joke about Morgan ‘not being hungry’, until he sees the dried blood on the back of Morgan's hands. Morgan won't meet his brother's worried look. Alex doesn't say anything, just stands up and walks into the bathroom attached to Morgan's room. He's back a second later with a damp washcloth. Morgan doesn't object, wincing silently when Alex grabs the hand he's not holding the fork with and starts washing away the blood._

_“You've got to stop doing this Morgan. It's not good for you.”_

_Morgan shrugs, swallowing. “It's worse than it looks. Besides, who cares what I do?”_

_Alex’s hurt expression is a punch to the gut, but his older brother doesn't say anything, just starts spreading dabs of Neosporin on the split skin. He finishes it off by using the too small band aids that are all that were left in the box, doubling them up to cover each wound. When he silently holds out his hand for Morgan’s other hand, Morgan complies. When he's done Alex returns everything to the bathroom it came from, leaving Morgan to stare down at the mostly finished plate in quiet shame._

_“You should finish that,” Alex says, sitting back down._

_“Not really hungry.”_

_“Morgan.”_

_Morgan sighs and shovels down the last of the pasta, which sits like a rock in his stomach. He wishes Alex would just leave him to his misery._

_Alex sighs. “Look, Morgan. I'm not going to make you talk about it. I understand being… frustrated with Dad. He's hard to get along with.”_

_“It's not like I'm not trying!” Morgan shouts, angry. “He's just an asshole!”_

_“I know. But he's still our father.”_

_“I wish he wasn't.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Yes,” Morgan insists petulantly._

_Alex sighs again. “I guess that's fair. It's not your fault he's like this. And hurting yourself doesn't hurt him. Just you.”_

_“And you,” Morgan adds before he can stop himself, because he’s bitter and he’s angry and apparently he can’t stop himself from hurting the only person who actually gives a shit about him._

_Alex just shrugs. “Maybe. But that's not important. You've gotta find a better way to deal with this Morgan.”_

_“Yeah, whatever.”_

_Alex seems to know the conversation is over, standing up and grabbing the plate. He awkwardly pats Morgan’s shoulder before he walks away, making Morgan’s eyes sting again._

_“Alex?” he calls, not looking up._

_“Yeah?”_

_“Thanks.”_

_“No problem. I'll see you later.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Later, as he's trying to sleep, Morgan runs a light finger over the bandages on his knuckles. Not enough to hurt, just to feel the physical evidence that someone really does care about him._

  
“-do speak. Six?” Alex says just as the memory leaves them.

Six is still halfway back in time more than a decade ago and a headache is fast approaching, but they’ve got to try for him at least. “Yes?”

Apparently that was the right answer. “This is my father and the senior board member of TranStar, William Yu. He’s come to observe the testing today.” Alex doesn’t add that it means they’ll have to be on their best behavior, but it’s definitely implied in the way he’s looking at them.

“Hello,” they try, unsure of what else to say. They feel like they’re on display at a museum, or a child being told to behave while their parents’ friends are over.

William Yu ignores them entirely, stepping back away from the glass and observing them dispassionately. “Impress me, Alex.”

Six isn’t sure if they’re glad or insulted that he’d ignored them. They settle for glad, since at least it means they don’t have to keep staring into those dead, emotionless eyes. They’re still in shock from Morgan’s memories and the feelings that came along with them, like the gut-wrenching hatred for William Yu and the soft warmth of gratitude and familial love for Alex. They’re sure Alex would just love to hear that.

They don’t want to think about that. They decide to focus on their confusion instead. If Alex knew his father was coming today then why hadn’t he warned them beforehand? Unless this was some sort of surprise test?

Or, Six realizes, barely keeping their surprise off of their face, William Yu is here to watch the testing specifically because there’s some kind of special test going on. They do not like the sound of that.

The elevator dings, releasing a flood of people. There are even more than on the first day of their testing, humans and Operators that they haven’t seen before. They like that even less.

“Testing of Subject Six, day six, phase two,” Quinten says, a very familiar figure standing in his white coat. They’re glad that someone else looks as nervous about this ordeal as they do. “We will begin today with a basic demonstration of abilities. Is Subject Six prepared to begin?”

“Yes,” Six says, trying to keep the obvious question out of their tone. What possible purpose could be served by having them do things that they’d already shown they were capable of? They just obey, following Quinten’s instructions. Thermal attack there, mimic that, move those boxes. It’s boring and repetitive, but Six is kept in edge just knowing that William Yu is closeby. If anything the ease with which they complete the instructions makes it worse. There’s nothing to focus on but the icy cold stare on their back.

“That will be the last of phase two, Subject Six,” Quentin says, finally interrupting the repetition. “We are moving to phase three, the final one for today. This phase is intended to test your ability to communicate with other Typhon.”

‘Other Typhon’. Six is glad that in their Typhon form they don’t have facial expressions. They do their best to ignore the slight as they watch a steel containment chamber rise out of the floor. It’s one of the small ones, the glass panel revealing a Mimic scuttering around inside.

I am not like that thing.

“Now beginning initial tests of phase two. Subject Six, simply do whatever feels most natural. Please indicate when you are prepared to begin.”

“Do you not have any idea what I should do?” Six asks before they can stop themself.

“Again, we ask that you choose to do whatever feels most natural to you. We will edit the next parts of the testing to take these results into account.”

Great. Six looks at the Mimic, trying to figure out what feels ‘natural’. The only thing that comes to mind is killing it before it can kill them but something tells them that isn’t what the researchers are looking for. They’re supposed to be a bridge. Killing the Mimic wouldn’t accomplish that.

Maybe if they wanted a bridge they should’ve tried building it out of wood instead of a dead man’s memories and Typhon.

“I’m ready.”

The containment chamber opens with a mechanical whir, releasing the Mimic into Six’s test chamber. The Mimic immediately charges in their direction. Six uses their Typhon limbs to cling to the ceiling and fling themself to the other side of the room. They hold up their hands in the universal sign for ‘I’m not here to fight’.

Apparently, it isn’t very universal. The Mimic just switches directions and launches itself at their head. Six gives in to their first instinct and slams down with a Typhon limb. The Mimic is crushed instantly, limbs twitching as it dies. Six feels vaguely sick.

Quinten hums, flipping through his clipboard until he reaches the page he’s looking for. “Results unfortunate, but expected. Subject Six, why did you choose not to speak with the Mimic?”

“They don’t speak any human language. Right?”

“That is correct, but I was not referring to any human language. We have reason to believe it is impossible for such a mentally advanced species to not have developed a method of communication. As such there must be a Typhon ‘language’ of sorts. Were you under the impression that the Mimic was attempting communication?”

“No? It was just attacking me. I don’t know about any kind of ‘Typhon language’.”

“Again, your failure was not unexpected. Before we introduce the next Mimic, we will need you to attempt to appear as a Phantom would. Use the hologram for guidance.”

Six glares at Quinten, then at the hologram of the Phantom. They don’t like this. They don’t like Quentin acting like they’re a Typhon. They don’t like the coldly uncaring, superior look on Alex’s face. They don’t like the enormous crowd of researchers standing there, and they really, really don’t like William Yu. They’re don’t like having to ignore how much they disliked killing the Mimic, and how their own flesh had looked so similar to its.

Six shrinks down a few inches to match the Phantom, drawing in their extra limbs. Their fingers and more human legs are replaced with the pillar like legs and pointed arm blades of the Phantoms. The guide isn’t really necessary, but they walk around it to compare themself to it once they’re done.

“You appear accurate to my eyes, Subject Six. Are you prepared?”

“Yes.”

The container that replaces the old one looks identical down to the Mimic inside. Six is about to ask if they’re just supposed to do the same thing as last time when Quinten speaks again.

“There are a few rules for you to follow this time. Firstly, do not kill the Mimic until you have received permission. Do not attempt human speech or movement unless the Mimic has begun to attack. If it attacks, attempt human communications only as a last resort. The test objective remains to see if we can establish communications with a Typhon organism. The test will begin in three… two… one.”

The glass sides open and nothing changes. The Mimic doesn’t even hesitate once it can move - it charges straight at Six without hesitation. Six dodges once again.

“I’m not your enemy,” they try, moving to avoid the Mimic as it turns. The Mimic doesn’t respond and they dodge again, weaving around it.

“Hello?” Dodge.

“I’m Six. Do you have a name?” Dodge

“You don’t understand a word I’m saying.” Dodge.

Finally, Six gets tired of jumping around the test room and grabs the Mimic around its middle, holding it still as its limbs try to slice through theirs. They grab ahold of its legs and hold it immobile in front of them with substantially more effort than they’d expected.

“I want to talk to you,” Six says, staring at it. The Mimic doesn’t respond. Six looks up at Alex, sees his flat expression and addresses Quinten instead, exasperated. “This isn’t working. Do these things even have mouths?”

“We have been unable to find any, so it is unlikely. Did you notice it acting any differently than the previous one?”

“No. It just really wants me dead.”

“Was it behaving oddly before you revealed that you were not a Phantom?”

“No.” Duh.

“Six,” Alex interrupts, finally speaking directly to them. “We are attempting to figure out if it is using something more than sight to verify that you are not like it is. What is your opinion?”

His speech is stiffer than usual, but at least he’s acting a bit more normal. “If I had to guess, it already knew. I don’t know how.”

Alex just nods, waving to Quentin to continue.

“Subject Six, are you able to put the Mimic back into its containment chamber?”

“I’ll try.”

The Mimic fights them every inch of the way, scratching their limbs and actually managing to slice clear through one, but Six eventually shoves it into the glass chamber and yanks their Typhon limbs away in time to avoid being cut off by the glass. They look down to find their own limb wriggling on the floor just like the first Mimic.

“So, what now?” they ask.

A much larger containment chamber rises out of the floor to replace the Mimic. It’s taller than they are and a good deal wider. The glass is frosted, affording no view of the Typhon inside. Quinten clears his throat. “The final Typhon of this phase of testing is a Phantom. It is the most basic of the Phantom forms and possesses only the ability to use kinetic blasts. Is Subject Six prepared to begin?”

“Yes,” they respond, focus locked on the metal door with it’s tiny window.

“For this test there will be no need to mimic a Phantom. We are instead attempting to see if a more intelligent member of the species, one made from an entire human, is capable of communication. We would also like to see if the Phantom can sense you in the room or if it will not take note until it can either see or hear you. Would you please stand behind the containment chamber?”

Six walks around the steel cylinder and stands there, uneasy. They don’t think they much care for these experiments, but if it helps Alex and the rest of humanity… “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Then the test will begin in three… two… one.”

The door unlocks with the hiss of compressed air, swinging outward on its hinges. Inside is a Phantom like any other they’ve seen. The only notable thing is the bulky collar around its neck. It springs away from the container and immediately catches sight of the researchers on the opposite side of the glass. It takes no notice of Six and shifts over to the window to stare them down, a snake watching a mouse, ready to strike.

Six stands there, uncertain. They look up at Alex and shrug their confusion. He gestures to his lips pointedly and Six winces. They want to mime that they have no idea how to speak to the Phantom, or that they would really like to stop the test, but they know they can’t do either of those things. Instead they stare at the Phantom, hoping there’s something in them, some kind of instinct or primal memory that knows what to do, but they find nothing. Irritated and honestly ready to be done with the day, they make a decision.

“Hey. I’m part Typhon. You want to try to tear me apart too?” they ask.

The Phantom spins to face them, poised to attack and then just. Freezes. Without eyes it’s impossible to tell where it’s looking, but Six can feel it’s focus. They are at a loss for words - that had worked?! - and try waving instead.

The air itself changes. It feels viscous, saturated with malice and fury. The Phantom itself changes, standing up straighter, looking at them down the nose it doesn’t have. Its arms are at its sides instead of ready to attack. Six feels like they’re pinned under its gaze, waiting on a judge to announce their sentence as time stays frozen. The feeling is disturbingly, horrifically familiar.

“Disgusting.”

The word shatters the moment, and the world rushes to make up for lost time. The Phantom moves, flying at Six with its limbs raised. Their feet feel cemented to the floor and they still can't move but it's already on them. The Phantom drives one arm through their chest, the other slicing through the air towards their left arm. Their body reacts before they do, and a Typhon limb shoots from their back to grapple with the Phantom. Time starts moving normally again. Somewhere, the researchers are shouting.

Six grabs the Phantom by its head and flings it away, the slick, wet sound of its limb leaving their chest ignored. It crashes into its containment chamber and tumbles with it to the ground. Six feels the ground underneath their feet heating. They roll to the side just in time to avoid a pillar of fire. They respond with a kinetic blast that hits the Phantom as it is trying to stand, knocking it back into the wall. It staggers forward and a high inhuman screech comes from it, a challenge, defiance in the face of a much stronger opponent. Six responds in kind, louder, angrier. They launch themselves towards their opponent, grappling with its limbs and pinning their smaller challenger. They tear off one arm, listening to the sounds of pain with joy.

Bow to me.

They’re poised to shred through the other arm when a painful jolt runs through their system. They pause for just long enough that the Phantom can push them back. It staggers to its feet, regrowing its lost limb. Six screams their rage again, ready to strike.

This time the shock floods their mind and body, causing their charge to falter. The Phantom slams into them and the the two fall to the floor as it wrestles for the upper hand. Six throws it off again and it slams into the wall with a loud wet noise and stays there, momentarily stunned.

This time, Six does not move in to finish it. This time, they finally notice the pain in their chest and the wet black fluid dripping from the wounds to their body. This time, they can hear Alex.

“You have two seconds to respond or I’m upping the power,” he shouts, obviously trying to get them to listen. They wonder if he’d given the same warning before.

“I can hear you,” they say, feeling bizarrely detached.

“Thank God- Six, detain it, don’t kill it.”

They nod, in action once more. The Phantom is struggling to rise. They lift it with their Typhon limbs as they flip over its containment chamber, ignoring the wounds it inflicts on them in the process. They side step another thermal attack and slam it into the open container. They step back as the door slides shut with another hiss. It disappears into the darkness underneath the testing room as Six continues to stare at the floor. They don’t want to think.

“Six, can you still hear me?”

“I can.”

“We are going to send in someone to heal you. Do not attack them,” Alex orders, like he thinks it's a genuine concern. Maybe it is.

“Right,” they respond numbly. They don’t decide to sit, but their legs feel like marshmallow and they fall against the glass and slide down until they’re seated on the floor with their legs sprawled out in front of them. The room isn’t pristine white any more. The walls are streaked with thick black liquid, slowly trickling in lines down the glass. The floor is burnt in places, scratched in others. The walls are, by some miracle, unbroken. Six wonders dully if they really are indestructible.

“Hello?” a heavily accented voice calls.

They look up to find an Operator in front of them. “Mikhaila.”

“Oh, thank God, you know who I am. We were worried we had lost you for a minute there.”

Six shrugs, hissing at the pain that it causes.

“You’re wounded. Don’t try to move - let me help.”

Six watches as she scans them, two thin metal ‘arms’ coming up and out to repair the damage. She moves quickly, patching them up in only a few minutes. “There. You should rest, but I think you’re alright now. How do you feel?”

Like they’re not real. “Better.”

“I was told you can return to your room once you answer a few questions,” Mikhaila coaxes, voice strangely sympathetic.

They look around, finally noticing that everyone who had been in the outer room has disappeared. Smart. “What questions?”

“Alex?” she calls, apparently some kind of signal.

“What just happened?” Alex asks, voice coming over the speakers.

Six shakes their head.

“No? You’re refusing to answer?”

They shake their head again.

“Six. We need you to speak.”

Six wants nothing more than to sleep. They instead move their legs until their knees press into their chest, wrapping their arms around their knees and putting their head on their forearms, closing their eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Why was the Phantom acting so strangely at first?”

“That thing. He was back. Controlling it.”

“‘He’? The one who spoke to you in the simulation?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t know why he did that?”

“No.”

Voices are speaking in the background. They cut off abruptly before Alex continues. “That sound, the… screeching. Were you communicating with the Phantom?”

“Yes.”

“Did you only do it because you were mimicking the Phantom?”

“No. It was… a response. It was challenging me.”

“Challenging you? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay Six, just a few more questions. Why did you react like you did?”

Please just leave me alone. “I was scared. He is terrifying. I wasn’t thinking, and then it challenged me, and I just… reacted.”

“Were you in control? Did ‘he’ take control?”

“No. I was still me. I don’t know if you’d be able to get me back if he took over.”

More voices. “The thermal attacks - they weren’t yours, were they?”

“No.”

“But that wasn’t a Thermal Phantom.”

“I don’t know why it could use them. Maybe he did something.”

“Fascinating,” Alex mutters to himself. “Six, you did great, you’re done for the day. I’ll send an Operator to take you back to your room-”

“Alex,” Mikhaila interrupts. “I’m already here. I can take them back.”

“Ah, good idea. We have to go run tests on that Phantom, but I’ll be speaking with you again soon, Six. You did well today.”

Six doesn’t bother to respond, back to not thinking. They’re vaguely aware that they’re supposed to move, but that means they’d need to think.

“Six. Stand up,” Mikhaila says, the words an order and not a request despite the softness of her tone.

Six curls in tighter. Maybe she’ll go away.

“Six.”

They shake their head.

“Six.”

They feel one of her metallic limbs on their arm and look up. Mikhaila is radiating sympathy, but her voice brooks no argument. “Staying here won’t help. Let’s go.”

Maybe if they do what she says she’ll leave them alone. They slowly climb to their feet, relying heavily on the wall. Their wounds hurt, but they aren’t fatal by any means. Their unsteady legs are more due to the fog in their mind than anything else.

Mikhaila moves slowly to accommodate for their sluggish pace. Occasional dripping sounds follow their slow progress through the halls. Moving gets only marginally easier as they keep walking, and by the time they reach the door to the turret room they’re struggling to focus instead of struggling against it. They feel only dull surprise as Mikhaila continues to lead them, gently encouraging them up the stairs. Inside their room she continues to baby them. When they try to go to their bed, she forces them to stop.

“Not yet. Get in the shower, you’re covered in muck.”

They want to object, but even a verbal fight sounds like too much effort. Instead they comply, stepping immediately into the icy cold water. It stings against their partially healed wounds.

“Wash off the blood. It’ll make you feel better.”

They put in only minimal effort, but the water does the rest. By the time Mikhaila finally allows them to leave they really are feeling better. The warm towel on their skin is nice too, as long as they avoid their chest and right arm.

Mikhaila stops them once again as they enter their bedroom, but by now they’re used to taking her orders. She scans them again and tsks.

“Well, you’re not going to die on me. You generally spend your time in human form, yes?”

They nod.

“Then if I bandage you now, they will fall off when you return to that form. Are you able to change back?”

They don’t bother to respond, instead drawing on the last of their mental reserves and shrinking, human skin covering their Typhon form. Looking down they can see their TranStar uniform has been pierced in multiple places. Only their chest and arm are still leaking black Typhon blood.

“Just one last thing. Can you take off the top of the uniform? I can’t bandage you otherwise.”

As it turns out, they can’t, not without help. Mikhaila’s robotic limbs are gentle as she helps them peel away the wet suit from their skin, unable to lift their arms over their head easily. The bandaging is firm but still gentle, Mikhaila not causing any more pain than absolutely necessary. As she helps Six into bed they’re foggily aware that there’s something they need to say. Their eyelids are heavy, already closing, but they speak.

“Thank you.”

They’re already out by the time Mikhaila responds.

“You poor, poor thing.”

 

 

Six doesn’t want to wake up, but the not so quiet conversation beside them won’t let them sleep either. It sounds like Mikhaila and Danielle. The latter seems to be prompting the former to leave the room before Six wakes up. They groan loudly to give them both time to stop speaking before ‘waking up’. They open their eyes and sit up, wincing. The two Operators are further away than they’d thought, but Mikhaila moves closer immediately.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I’ve definitely felt better. I think I’d be feeling a lot worse if you hadn’t helped though, thanks.” They look past her to Danielle, who hasn’t moved or said a word. “Hi Danielle. I think this is the first time we’ve met.”

Mikhaila’s voice sounds nervous and overly positive when she speaks. “Oh! My mistake, I should have introduced you two. Six, this is Danielle. Danielle, this is-”

“Six, yeah, I get it. Nice to meet you and all that.”

“I’m sure I’m as pleased to meet you as you are to meet me.” For fuck’s sake. Six, you really need to start watching your mouth. Danielle doesn’t respond. Mikhaila moves quickly over to Six’s desk, coming back holding onto a small bundle of fabric.

“Here, this was dropped off while you were asleep,” Mikhaila says, holding up a new TranStar uniform. “I was told it was modified to accommodate your extra appendages.”

Six takes the uniform from her, flipping it around to look at the back. The holes are evenly spaced along it, relatively close to where their Typhon limbs usually manifest. Convenient. “Glad I won’t need to ruin any more uniforms. Thanks. I’m going to go change, I’ll be right back.”

Changing with their injuries is all kinds of fun, leaving Six irritable and wishing they could just be alone. When they get back to the main room, Danielle is whispering to Mikhaila.

“Danielle, if you don’t want to be here you’re more than welcome to leave,” Six snaps. They’re not willing to admit that it kind of hurts to see Danielle this wary around them. Sarah they understood - she hadn’t even really trusted Morgan. And Alex was bound by rules he couldn’t control. But Danielle… it was a bit of a slap in the face.

“Six don’t-”

“See? It doesn’t even want us here,” Danielle says, frustrated. “You can’t fix it any more than you already have. We should go.”

“Danielle, please-”

I am not an it. “Mikhaila is more than welcome to stay. She can manage common courtesy. You, on the-”

“Stop it, both of you,” Mikhaila says. She doesn’t shout, but her stern, no-nonsense tone drowns out what remained of Six’s sentence and shut up Danielle. “Are you children, or can I expect you two to act like adults?”

Six is tempted to remind her that they were only born a little over a week ago, but they mutter their apology when Danielle does the same.

“That is better. Now, Six, can I look at your wounds?”

Six wants to object - this thing was hard enough to get on once! - but they’re still feeling somewhat ashamed. Mikhaila goes out of her way not to hurt them, but they still hiss under their breath when she starts replacing the bandages. They dig their fingers into their thigh to distract themself until she pronounces herself satisfied.

“That Phantom did a lot of damage,” Danielle notes. She sounds like she’s noting the weather, but at least she doesn’t sound happy about it.

“I was distracted. It won’t happen again,” Six says. If she can be cordial then so can they. “That reminds me though, did they find anything interesting when they looked at it again?”

“Unfortunately, no. Alex told me that it is now a Thermal Phantom, but there’s nothing special about it otherwise.,” Mikhaila answers.

“I knew it. He did something.”

“Yes, well, we can’t be sure of that and Alex won’t reach a decision until he’s gotten proof. I doubt we will be able to verify anything.”

“Oh well. You guys can leave if you want, you know. I’m sure you have somewhere else to be.” Six still isn’t sure that they much like having visitors.

“Nah, Mikhaila feels bad for you since you’re holed up in here all the time. Our schedules are clear.” Danielle does not sound thrilled.

“Danielle! Six, I promise I am not here because of feelings of guilt.”

“It’s fine. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“There’s nothing here for you to do,” Mikhaila points out.

“I have a puzzle. And playing cards.”

“Wait, you know how to play cards?” Danielle asks.

“Uh. Well, no, not really. I know about some but none of them are for one player.”

“What about Solitaire?”

That name sounds very familiar, but, “No idea what that is. How do I play it?”

Danielle opens up the desk and grabs the cards, her metal appendages having a surprisingly easy time. She shuffles them and starts to lay them out with a speed that implies a good deal of familiarity with the game. The setup of the cards on the table looks eerily familiar, but Six knows they haven’t seen it before.

Before they can think better of it, they ask, “Did Morgan like this game?”

Danielle pauses in the middle of laying down the last of the deck. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing,” they say immediately. “So how do I play this?”

The two Operators are quiet for a few moments before Mikhaila speaks. “Six, did you know that from his memories?”

“No. Sort of. It just looked familiar. Does it matter?” Somehow Six isn’t surprised that they know, just that they would reveal their knowledge. Alex hadn’t even asked, but then again he had a very good reason to not want to know.

The other two are quiet for longer this time, and Six doesn’t like the loss of the lightening atmosphere. They shouldn’t have said anything.

“I know this is sort of… personal,” Danielle says. “So don’t answer if you don’t want to. How much of Morgan’s memory do you have? Or do they feel like your memories or something?”

Six sighs, picking up the cards and shuffling through them to give themself something to look at other than the other two. “I don’t know. I always know that they aren’t mine, but I don’t know how much I can access. They’re always brought on by things I see or hear. If I try I can sometimes use them to learn things, but I don’t like doing it.”

“Why not?” Mikhaila asks.

“They aren’t my memories. And they aren’t usually good ones either.”

“Six, do you have any memories from after the incident on the Talos 1?” Mikhaila sounds like she’s very, very interested in the answer.

“Why?” Six asks, suspicious.

The Operators are silent for even longer this time, and Six suddenly wonders if they’re communicating silently with each other.

Danielle speaks up next. “What do you know about Morgan?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Danielle, let me. We are concerned because Morgan was… not quite himself after the Talos 1. He was not a happy person, Six. We’re wondering if any of those memories have transferred onto you.” They’re hiding something.

“Oh. No worries then, the newest of the clear memories was from when he was in his mid teens. High school.” Six doesn’t mention that they’re pretty sure Morgan wasn’t really a happy person for quite a while prior to the Talos 1. They don’t know anything about him, but nobody wants to have their private thoughts made public.

“That’s a relief,” Danielle says.

Six looks up from their cards. “I want to ask you two something. I get it’s probably hard to talk about him, but I’ve heard so much about Morgan - hell, I thought I was him - and I’ve realized I don’t know anything about him. What was he like?”

Danielle makes a sound similar to a snort. “He was stubborn, and arrogant. Better than Alex though, even before the Talos 1. Mikhaila knew him better though - I only knew him because he was the CEO’s brother.”

“I agree, he was stubborn. Not always for the wrong reasons, however. I would say he was proud more so than arrogant. He knew he was a great man and was not shy about it. He was often alone. I think he intimidated people, but everyone who knew him liked him. I don’t know that I ever saw him angry… At least not until after the Talos 1. He lost part of himself there. He came to believe he was responsible for the invasion of the Typhon, despite the facts clearly stating otherwise. He took the weight of the world onto his shoulders, and he suffered for it.” Mikhaila sounds wistful. Six wonders if she ever really got over Morgan. “But I am rambling. Does that answer your question, Six?”

“Yeah. Thanks. Sorry for asking.”

“It is fine. It is fair for you of all people to want to know.”

Six isn’t sure what to say, casting around for ideas. Danielle is silent, but thankfully Mikhaila speaks up before the awkward silence stretches on too long.

“I hear your training with Sarah was interesting,” Mikhaila says, tone amused.

Six rolls their eyes. “Oh, absolutely. I can shoot a perfectly still target with perfect accuracy and form. Now if only the secret to defeating the Typhon is listing off the four basics of gun safety I’ll be just golden.”

Danielle guffaws, Mikhaila chuckling as she says, “Yes, that does sound like Sarah. She was the one in charge of our training when we got back to Earth. All TranStar personnel were to be issued firearms, but since none of us had the training we had to learn. Training was… interesting, to say the least.”

Danielle groans. “No kidding. Lady has some very weird ideas about safety. She was very concerned about us shooting feet. Our feet, her feet, our imaginary partner’s feet.”

Six laughs. “You’re kidding, I thought that was just me?”

“No way, she’s seriously weird about safety.”

Mikhaila tsks. “Be fair. She was an excellent teacher.”

“With a weird obsession with feet.”

“Was she always like that?” Six asks.

“I don’t know,” Danielle says. “I didn’t know her until after the Typhon broke out. Mikhaila and her are close though.”

“I met her on my first day at TranStar. She is very dedicated to her job, it is true. I think it is very admirable.”

“I’m sure that’s the only reason you like her so much,” Danielle says suggestively.

“Oh, not this again,” Mikhaila groans.

“I’m just saying!”

“Just shut up and teach Six how to play Solitaire.”

Six is holding back laughter, feeling strangely elated that these two at least seem happy. Danielle seems to have gotten over her animosity from earlier - strangely quickly, now that they think about it - and happily teaches Six how to play Spider Solitaire, then Emperor, Cold Hands Poker, and Devil’s Grip. They eventually end up playing and losing a few games of Speed against Danielle before switching to Mikhaila, whose abilities are more evenly matched with theirs. They then plead out of learning yet more games and settle on a game everyone knows already - Go Fish. It’s also the first time that they beat the very competitive Danielle. She then beats them in five games in a row, but hey, they did win once.

Finally, their exhaustion gets the better of them and they have to ask to rest.

“Oh no, did we keep you from sleeping? I should have known you were too injured for this,” Mikhaila frets.

“No, no, I’m actually really glad you guys came by. Thank you,” Six says, abruptly shy.

“I’m glad to hear it. We’ll let you rest now.”

“Wait,” Danielle says. “First off, Six, I’m sorry for being a bitch. I shouldn’t have listened to people I didn’t know. Second, watch out for the guards. They’re the ones who told me you were just looking for your opportunity to kill us all.”

Mikhaila tsks. “Danielle, I did warn you against listening to them.”

“Yeah, well, I’m dumb.”

“It’s fine,” Six reassures her. “I was sort of rude too. Didn’t know the guards hated me that much though…”

“They spend too much time listening to fools and too little listening to common sense,” Mikhaila says dismissively. “Although I suppose they have the best reason to hate the Typhon…”

Goodbyes are exchanged, and the two Operators promise to return. Danielle says they should really practice Speed because she needs a real challenge every once in a while. The room feels very empty when they are gone. Six is glad that they’re so tired that they can’t focus on feeling lonely. They’re tempted to just collapse onto the bed, but lay down gently so they don’t undo all of Mikhaila’s hard work.

They wake up the next day still tired. Their first meal of the day helps, but then they’re awake enough to be bored and left alone with their thoughts. They decide to dedicate more time to playing with the cards, using their new knowledge to keep themself entertained for a few hours. When they get bored they find their thoughts drifting, and they don’t much care for their direction. They’ve felt unsettled about their job here in TranStar ever since they woke up, but actually killing Typhon felt… strange. Not like how they imagine killing a human would feel - they honestly don’t even want to imagine that - but seeing the same blood that they bleed on the same Typhon skin that they were covered in? It was unsettling, eclipsed only by the somewhat disturbing thought that the researchers had put the Typhon into that test room knowing that they’d probably have to kill them or die themself.

Logic says the Typhon were attacking them, and the only way to get them to stop was to kill or wound them. Logic then points out that the Typhon wouldn't be here in the first place if humanity hadn't tried to use them to advance itself. Logic’s counter argument is that the asteroid carrying the Typhon had landed on Earth in the first place, and therefore no following actions would have prevented them from taking over. In fact, the removal and containment of the Typhon had probably prevented them from attacking earlier and causing possibly apocalyptic devastation on a population that still had yet to make it to the moon. Logic apparently wants to argue itself in a circle, and can therefore fuck off.

Six taps the desk, trying to pull apart their emotions. They don’t even know what they’re feeling, aren’t sure how to figure it out. Emotionally they’re a tangled mess of themself and the expectations of others and the remains of a dead man. They don’t know how to be Six. They’re not even sure who that is.

Six stands up and heads for the bathroom. They aren’t sure how they feel and they don’t think they’re quite ready to start figuring it out yet, so they aren’t going to, but shower is definitely in order. They aren’t sure if they’re allowed to keep wasting water, but they’re feeling better and they’d really appreciate a chance to really wash off the last of the Typhon blood from yesterday. Besides, the rest of their healing wounds should be cleaned. Probably. Infections or something.

The feel of the water on their skin is relaxing. They shower faster than they’d like to but still enjoy it. As they move to grab the soap for their hair, their foot lands on something hard and oddly shaped. They crouch and pick it up, turning it over in their hand. It’s unfamiliar to them, a thin oval no bigger than the first two joints of their pinky finger. They can’t find anything on it to indicate what it is, but its presence bothers them. They finish their shower quickly and get dressed just as fast. It refuses to reveal any more secrets to them as they sit on their bed studying it.

Where could it have come from? They run through the mental list of people they knew had been in their room. There’s just January, Mikhaila, and Danielle, and none of them had stepped into their shower. Maybe it had been dropped by whoever had made the room, or someone who’d come in afterwards.

They’d like to believe the solution is that simple, but for some reason it just doesn’t seem right. They can’t think of when else it would have gotten in there though. It isn’t theirs, and they have no idea when it would have gotten on them to fall off in there.

Unless it had come from one of the Typhon from yesterday, they suddenly realize. It could be some kind of tracking chip? The only ones they’re familiar with are from Morgan’s memories of microchipped pets, but those were the size of long grain rice even when he was a kid. Its size only made sense if it had a secondary purpose. It couldn’t be for communication, and it was also too big to be intended to be an identification tag. Unless it was more like a shock collar? Only some Typhon are immune to electricity, so that… wouldn’t…. make sense.

No, it only made sense if it were some other kind of pain inducing device, one that could stop a Typhon from doing something the researchers didn’t want it to do. Like killing a Phantom that suddenly developed an ability it shouldn’t have.

Six isn’t sure whether they want to laugh at their own stupidity or break something. The chip has to be theirs, at least in a way. It was what had hurt them yesterday, what had stopped them from killing the Phantom in the testing chamber. The Phantom must have clawed it out when it tore into their arm. The chip had to have been put there when they were being created as an insurance policy. What had Alex said yesterday? Something about ‘upping the power’? Meaning it could go higher. High enough to kill them, probably.

Six wonders what else it can do. Is it sending information to Alex right now? It has to be, at least enough information that Alex already knows it’s no longer embedded in their flesh. He’s not dumb enough to leave that to chance.

Despite their indignant rage, they have to admit that it makes sense. Six is dangerous. They know that. A powerful Typhon can’t be in a building occupied by humanity’s best hope untracked and unrestrained. The Board of Directors would never allow it. They know that. It’s perfectly logical that there would be no room for mistakes. It’s common sense that no one trusts Six.

It still hurts. Mostly when they consider that Alex doesn’t trust them. They immediately push the feeling away and mentally swear at Morgan. It’s his fault that they care what Alex thinks. He’s not their brother. He wasn’t even their sole creator. There’s no reason to be attached to him beyond Morgan’s memories, memories that _apparently everyone knows they have and had just failed to mention._

They stand up and shove the chip into one of their drawers, slamming the door shut. They then fling it open to fish through the disturbed contents until they find it again and tuck it securely into a pocket. They can’t lose it. They’re going to get an explanation. They deserve an explanation.

They clench their fists, anger that could be directed at Alex, or Morgan, or themself snapping for action. They turn and drive a fist into the wall, deja vu taking over in the split second before it connects. Then they howl, clutching their arm to their body as they nearly fall into their desk from the pain.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god, oh shit,” they gasp, holding onto the arm that they’d just hit the wall with, the same one that had been cut into by the Phantom barely a day ago. It actually somehow hurts more than when it had been injured initially.

They eventually manage to stagger to their bed and lay down gently, arm very carefully placed onto the sheets. They throw their other arm over their eyes, groaning. Some part of them notes that punching the wall had definitely helped them get rid of anger, even if not quite how they’d intended. Six tells that part to shut up.

A while later, once the throbbing in their arm has faded to a dull ache, they stretch out the other until it can reach the light switch and the room falls into darkness. They don’t bother to glance at the clock - they’re more than ready for some rest. The chip in their pocket feels heavier than it has any right to be. They should probably just let it go, be understanding that Alex needed to be sure he could end their experiment if he needed to. But they can’t. If nothing else, they want him to know that they know, and they want to know why he never decided to tell them. The many hours between them and the next day’s training convince them to promise themself that they will bring this up tomorrow.

The last day before the testing is pretty much the same as the ones before it. No one so much as mentions the events of two days ago, Alex doesn’t bring up the chip, and the room has been returned to its previous state of immaculate cleanliness. If Six couldn’t still feel the aches left from the fight they might even believe they’d imagined the whole thing.

It isn’t until Quinten calls an end to their testing that something does change. They don’t notice at first, too busy watching Alex walk away as they play with the chip in their pocket. They hadn’t said anything. They’d just followed instructions and tried to work up their courage, and they’d failed. They don’t even notice the lone Operator that is moving towards them until it moves into their line of view.

“Hello Six.”

“January?” they ask, confused. Why was he here? Actually, was he always at these tests? Why?

“I am here to escort you to Alex,” January says as the walls of the testing room fall back into the ground. “He wants to speak with you about the testing tomorrow.”

Could it be about the chip? They follow him to the door, trailing a step behind so no one walking past them could miss that he was their guide. “Why not just tell me in the testing room?”

“The information is sensitive. He wants to make sure no one is listening in.”

Six chews that over as they exit the room and follow the now familiar path that leads to the room they’re in. January leads them past the door and takes a left not far beyond.

“This place is huge,” they comment, amazed that there’s this much space on their floor alone.

“As one of the last hopes of humanity, it should be. We’re about to go to the aboveground levels - humans with no idea who you are will be up there. I’d advise you to be very careful with what you say.”

“Wait, wait, go back to ‘aboveground levels’. We’ve been underground this entire time?”

“Yes. Everything concerning Alex’s experiments and any live Typhon specimens are held down here. In the event of an emergency the access to the upper levels can be shut down entirely. TranStar isn’t eager to repeat their mistakes from the Talos 1.”

The elevator opens to reveal a richly carpeted space with finely decorated expensive looking wooden walls. Six is almost afraid to step inside, but they’re more afraid to lose track of January. Once they’re inside they can see that the elevator is somewhat less well maintained than they’d originally thought. The carpet is in need of cleaning, the shiny golden rails on the walls slightly sticky in the way that the handrails of a busy staircase are. The walls have scratches too, although they aren’t easily seen. As the elevator begins moving, they realize that this might be their last chance to talk to January for a little while.

“January, you were just talking about people who wouldn’t know who I am. We’re not going to be around… you know, humans, right?”

“Of course. I don’t have the authority to clear an entire floor, and Alex has decided it isn’t necessary to keep his experiments separated from people that could be hurt.”

“January, that can’t- I’m not-”

“Someone is getting on. Be quiet.”

The elevator is indeed slowing, coming to a gentle halt on floor one. A huge number of people get on, crowding the small room. Six presses close to January, the warm metal of his side pressed against their good arm as an elbow sticks into their side and a briefcase knocks into their knees. The doors close, sealing them in. Six is frozen. They’ve never had this much contact with humans before. Not directly. Not touching their skin and oh god what if they can tell what if someone shouts they’re not human enough-

“Don’t worry,” January says just loudly enough for them to hear.

Six almost nods, stopping themself at the last moment. It’s bizarrely comforting just having someone there that they know, even if they don’t like him that much. They focus on remembering to breathe - it’s something they’ve been practicing so that they can pass as human. They don’t need the air unless they’re speaking, but their body knows how to do it and if they just remember to breathe a few times every minute they can pretty easily pass for human.

Everyone but a woman who is very intent on her phone and the man with the briefcase who’d hit them earlier gets off before floor twenty. Six is tempted to ask what floor Alex is on, but realizes a moment later that if they were human and they were being called there they’d probably already know where it is. They settle for staying close to January and hoping no one else gets onto the elevator.

“Hey,” the man says.

They ignore him at first, assuming he’s talking to the woman, but as the seconds creep on and she doesn’t speak, they realize he might be talking to them. They look up and yes, he’s looking right at them. Their fears of being discovered skyrocket, leading to them looking up at him with undisguised fear.

The man just smiles and holds out a hand. “I’m Edward, and no, my mother insists that isn’t a Twilight reference. I work in the Engineering Department. You a new hire?”

They spend five seconds too long frantically trying to figure out if they should know what his name has to do with the time of day before they realize he’s looking for a handshake. They hurriedly grasp his hand in theirs, shaking it. “Hello, and yes, how did you guess?”

Edward laughs. “Everybody is terrified their first day here, it’s easy to spot newbies. Where are you going to be working?”

Lie, lie lie lie lie! “The Science Department. I don’t know what I’ll be doing yet though, you know how it is.”

“Oh absolutely. This place is all about security. You see those buttons on the elevator for the underground levels?”

“Yes?”

“You have to have top security clearance to get to anything below level zero. None of us peons know what’s down there. Lots of gossip though,” Edward says, lowering his voice. “Some people say live Typhon, but the really crazy theories are everything from alien motherships to humans with Typhon limbs grafted onto them.”

“That’s…”

“I know. Nobody really believes that crap though. I mean, Typhon in this building? Who’d be crazy enough to do that? My honest guess is it’s just experimental technology that they want to make sure doesn’t blow up in our faces.”

“That does sound more reasonable.”

“Yeah. The other stories are probably just made up to scare new people anyways,” Edward says just as the elevator begins to slow for the thirty first floor, the one he’d selected. “Looks like we’re at my stop. Oh hey, I didn’t catch your name now that I’m thinking about it.”

“Morgan.”

“It was nice meeting you Morgan. I’m usually at lunch about one, if you’re down in the cafeteria about then we should meet up for lunch.”

“That would be nice, I’ll definitely try.”

“Well, good luck on your first day. Catch you later Morgan,” he says, walking out.

“See you, Edward.”

The elevator doors shut behind three new entries and they begin ascending once more. Six can’t decide if they want to throw up, run away, or curl up and pretend no one exists. They settle on none of the above, standing behind January and feeling numb.

More people get on and off, but no one else talks to Six. January finally moves when the elevator slows for the uppermost floor of the building. Six trails behind him as he gets out. The floor is littered with guards patrolling with their weapons at their hip, hands never straying far from the grips. The floor is the same type of elegant carpet as the elevator, the walls pristine, the windows clear and bright. Six walks past a small round robot on the outside of the building busily cleaning the glass.

The people are an interesting mix of those in well pressed expensive suits and those in the red-brown and black TranStar uniforms of the administrators. Everyone looks important and powerful. No small number spare Six curious glances, and for an insane second they spot a small potted plant and consider mimicking it and hiding under a desk. Then it’s past them and they stumble as they almost walk into January when he stops in front of the last door of the row. Front and center, just above eye level, is a black sign. It reads ‘Alex Yu’ in stern golden lettering, and, just below his name, ‘CEO’.

January doesn’t get a chance to knock before the door opens. Standing there, no impenetrable glass wall separating him from them, is Alex Yu. He is wearing his typical TranStar uniform, but his expression is the same one he wore when his father visited the testing two days ago. Six doesn’t know this Alex Yu, and he is deeply frightening to them.

“Come in,” is all he says, opening the door wider and stepping to the side. Six is very tempted to go and find that potted plant. Instead they follow January into the unknown.

The unknown turns out to be a very nice executive office. It’s all dark, professional colors and sharp angles, official looking documents in gold frames, imposing, stark decor.

“Six, you look like you’ve just fought a Nightmare,” Alex says, and Six turns to find the Alex they know standing next to his desk. The imperious stare is gone, replaced by observant but not unkind eyes and a mouth more inclined to a no effort semi-frown than the hard, unforgiving line it had been.

Six tries to smile, but it’s more of a twitch. “Next time, can I do that instead? At least Nightmares don’t try to shake my hand and ask where I work.”

“Oh? Did something happen?” Alex asks.

Six just shrugs dismissively, not wanting to talk about it, but January speaks up.

“Edward Johnson from the Engineering Department got onto the elevator with us. He was very… curious, about Six.”

“You didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

“Just made some stuff up,” Six responds.

“Yes, including that their name is Morgan,” January says.

“I couldn’t think of anything else! I had to come up with something fast!” Six says defensively. It had just been the first thing they thought of, it wasn’t like they did it on purpose! “What, should I have told him I named myself Six the day after I was born because it’s my experiment number? Maybe I should’ve said ‘Oh hey, by the way, I’m uncomfortable because the only people I’ve met have either been behind a glass wall or holding a gun at my back because I’m what they’ve been working on underneath your feet’? Or maybe ‘Sorry, I can’t talk to you because I’m literally a Typhon on your elevator going to see someone I barely know in a building I didn’t know existed because apparently I’ve lived my entire week long life underground-”

“Six!” Alex interrupts, looking startled. “Please, take a seat. Was the trip really that bad?”

“No,” they groan, falling into the nearest chair. “Yes? I don’t know.”

“I did warn you they weren’t ready for it,” January says.

“Six, do you want something to drink?” Alex says, ignoring January. Six just shrugs, eyes on the floor as they wrestle with the anxiety spiking in their chest. A moment later a warm mug is pressed into their hand by Alex, who then says, “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

“Thanks,” they mutter, sipping at the drink. It’s some kind of tea, fruit scented and mild. The scent isn’t one they’re familiar with, but Morgan’s memories supply them with the answer. Peach.

“My apologies, Six. I hadn’t considered that meeting so many new humans would be so difficult for you,” Alex says.

They take a larger drink of the tea, feeling the warmth spreading through them. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. What did you think of Edward?”

“He was trying to be nice. It’s not his fault I’m not what he thought I was. Wish I hadn’t said I was Morgan though.”

“Why? It’s a common enough name.”

“I am not Morgan,” they say, feeling almost like they’re trying to convince themself. “I shouldn’t have said I was.”

“I assure you, my brother wouldn’t mind. Now, Six. I believe you had something you wanted to discuss with me?”

Six looks up sharply to find that Alex has moved a seat in front of them. He can’t be five feet away. With their range of attack they could kill him easily. He knows that. What. The hell. Is going. On?

  
“I guess.”

“Well?”

Fuck it. Delicacy can go right out the window, they’re tired of this. “First I want to know what’s going on. You bring me up here with a building full of unsuspecting humans knowing you can’t stop me if I decide to break out, you don’t bother even putting up a pretense of defending yourself from me. What game are you playing here, Alex?”

“No games. I am demonstrating to you a reciprocation of the trust you’ve placed in me.”

“Is that what you call putting a kill switch in my arm? Trust?”

“So you did figure out what it was for. I wondered. You were studying it for quite a while”

“So you did put it there.”

“Of course. Did you think we were idiots, Six? Or should we have placed immediate faith in someone we’d never met?”

They bristle, angry. “That is exactly what you asked me to do. I just thought maybe I’d earned enough trust to at least know that you’d put a shock collar on me, or to be told directly that you put up cameras in my room, or maybe that you’d deliberately put Morgan’s memories in my head.”

“You didn’t need to be told about the cameras. You knew they were there. As for Morgan’s memories, I thought it was obvious”

“So? You could’ve told me.”

“You’re being petulant, Six. You aren’t a child.”

“Says who? I was ‘born’ nine days ago.”

Alex breaks the tension by chuckling. “Fair enough.”

“Not really,” Six says, sighing as they remove the chip from their pocket. “I’m not a kid, we both know that. As for this thing, I should’ve guessed it was there, and it did stop me from damaging what could’ve been a valuable research specimen. Although Danielle tells me you guys didn’t find anything.”

“Absolutely nothing. As far as we can tell it’s just a regular Thermal Phantom now.”

“I’m telling you, it was him. He was the one who let it do that.”

“After the tests I’m inclined to believe you. It really can’t use any of the abilities that it demonstrated before. It makes me wonder if M can do that to any Typhon, or if it was an exception for some reason.”

“‘M’?”

“The man you’ve mentioned. He doesn’t have a name, and he’s a mystery man. I believe it was Lynn who first used the nickname for him.”

“Ah,” they say, drinking their tea and avoiding eye contact. They’re still feeling out of place, and their ridiculous outburst doesn’t help. “Sorry. I’m just… It’s one thing to know I need to be able to play human so I can blend in, it’s another to just be thrown into it.”

“I can understand. I wouldn’t have done it this way if there had been another option.”

“But why was this necessary in the first place? If I need to know something, why not just tell me down in the testing rooms? Or at least have other people in the room with us?”

“No one else is here because I didn’t want to alarm anyone by letting them know that the MTDS chip had been removed. Too many of the researchers under me are under the impression you’re just an exceptionally intelligent Typhon waiting for an opportunity to kill us all. And as for why I chose my office - look around us Six. I only have a handgun, January was not built to be a military style Operator, and we are sitting at the top of a building in a room whose walls are mostly made of glass. I have put us on as level a playing field as I am capable of creating.”

They had noticed. “This has to do with the chip, doesn’t it? What do you want to do, put it back in?”

“No. Using an implanted chip was never the best option. They can be removed, or broken down in the body, and it was an involuntary process. This is something entirely different.”

They watch as Alex reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a thin black strip made of stiff but flexible material. “A dog collar.”

“Our research indicates that the human cells in your body have prompted you to take on a somewhat more human form than the Typhon. You can cut off and regrow an arm given enough time. The same can’t be said of your head. Its resemblance to a collar is unfortunate but unavoidable.”

They hold out the chip in their hand and Alex takes it, replacing it with the collar. Whatever fabric it’s made of doesn’t feel unpleasant against their skin, but the thought of wearing it is degrading. “So what does it do? Aside from the obvious.”

“It shares many similarities to the chip. The ‘shock collar’ effect is still there-”

“Wait, that’s right, how does that work? It can’t be using electricity.”

“It isn’t. It affects the very material that Typhon are made of, pulling it further apart the longer they’re in contact with it. The effect ends the moment the contact ceases and short bursts cause no permanent damage. Extended exposure causes permanent injury and even death, although I would have to intend to kill you to leave it on for that long. It also allows us to track you, monitor vital signs, communicate with you remotely, and acts as your identification ‘card’, functions that are standard requirements for every TranStar employee. And unlike the chip it enables you to leave this facility. Inside it is a device that nullifies certain Coral signals, specifically the ones that tell the Coral about oddities in the Typhon ecosystem. You’ll be able to leave without being tracked down by every Nightmare in a twenty mile radius. It’s been used by anyone with more than two Typhon Neuromods for years, so it’s guaranteed to work.”

“So there isn’t really an option. I have to wear this or I’m useless to you. In that case why not just knock me out or tie me down and put it on?”

“Well for one, I don’t enjoy pointless cruelty. For another, I need you to be able to trust me. Moreover I have to know that I can trust you entirely for the work we are going to be doing. If I have to lie to get you to accept something that is for the safety and ease of mind of everyone involved, then you can’t be what I need you to be.”

“Who can control the ‘shock’?”

“I am the only one with the controls. No one else will touch them.”

Six stares down at the collar, turning their options over in their mind. “You’re not giving me very good options here Alex.”

“I’ve given you the only ones available. Just by existing you’re too important and too terrifying to too many powerful people to have the kind of freedom normal people do. My cards are all on the table. What are you going to do, Six?”

Another choice, and yet again, it’s a question of whether or not they believe they can trust Alex. This time, even they can’t trick themself into believing they have an escape plan if everything goes sideways. It’s like blowing up the ship - a final decision they can’t turn back from. But in a way, it’s a bomb for Alex as well. He’s sitting only a few feet away from them. It wouldn’t even take any effort to kill him, and they’re right next to giant panes of glass. They wouldn’t even have to try that hard to get away. They could even probably move fast enough to escape without killing him. The real question is whether to stay, or to accept the only out that Alex is probably going to give them.

Choices, choices. Who knew that free will was such a pain in the ass?

They flip the collar over, studying it, then lift it up. “Right then. How do I put it on?”

“Just put it around your neck and it will do the rest.” Six knows they aren’t imagining the relief in his voice.

They don’t pause to reconsider, wrapping the black strip around their neck, feels the ends being drawn together. The collar clicks shut with finality, sealing the deal. They can barely even feel it.

“I’m glad to know that you trust me, Six,” Alex says.

“I’m glad that you decided to give me the choice. Thanks for that.”

“It was important that you agree to work with me. I have one final thing to discuss with you before you can go back downstairs. The testing tomorrow. No one else has spoken to you about it, have they?”

“No.”

“Then you have no idea what to expect, just like the rules state you should?”

“Yes?”

Alex nods to himself. “Good. I’m not going to tell you what you’re walking in to tomorrow, but I will tell you this. No one else is going to listen to those rules. Everyone else participating in the testing tomorrow will know exactly what they’re about to face. They will have trained in environments made to imitate the testing facility. You alone will be in the dark.

“You will also be the only one there who is not fully human. I am the only researcher willing to take such a risk when I could instead be working to develop the somewhat safer and already well established Typhon Neuromods. All of the other test takers will be humans enhanced with various powered up or previously unused Typhon abilities, or Operators given humanoid bodies and similar powers.

“The purpose of the testing is to show off the most recent developments in anti-Typhon technology. For most, it is the only way that they can get funding. Because of this, they will have used any method necessary to convince their test taker to use underhanded tricks. It is not uncommon for people to die during these tests. The other test takers will know who and what you are. No one volunteers for these tests if they can avoid it. Many have lost their entire family, spouse, parents, siblings, children. They will hate you without meeting you. Some may even go out of their way to end your life.”

Six hadn’t really spent time thinking about who they’d be compared against tomorrow. They feel like they should be disappointed that they really are the only one of their kind, but it’s not enough of a surprise for them to feel let down. They already knew humanity hates them - the knowledge that the other test takers will be able to identify them is the only surprise there. It’s also completely in character for Alex to be the only one brave or insane enough to take a risk like this. Once he’s convinced an idea can work he’s not the type to stop.

“Makes sense. But if you’re trying to prove that your work on Typhon/human hybrids is more effective than just adding Typhon abilities to a human or Operator, then why not just do what everyone else is and tell me what I’ll be tested on tomorrow?”

“Because when the Board of Directors sees you tomorrow, all they’re going to see is a Typhon cleverly disguised as a human. They don’t want you or me to be successful. When you are, and I believe you will be, they’re going to try to find a reason that doesn’t involve admitting a Typhon is smarter and more capable than the best weaponry humanity can come up with. My fellow researchers have mocked my efforts for years and secretly tried to get their people onto my team to steal my research. They desperately do not want me to prove you are better than anything they could come up with.

“I’ve carefully recorded every minute of your life up to this point - even right now, there is a camera watching this room. When the board and other researchers demand that I prove I did not specifically prepare you for the test I am going to present them with those videos. They’ll have someone else look through them and they’ll discover that I have not lied. They will have nothing to use against either of us and I will have total control of where we go from there.

“If I tell you the contents of the testing, they will find out. It’s unavoidable. They would take you and all of my other work to a location so secret I can’t even tell you the name, and I wouldn’t be able to stop them. You would be treated as any other Typhon, poked and pulled apart until they either killed you or drove you insane, because you are not Typhon and no sentient, feeling being should be put through that. I could go on, but I think you understand now.”

“You, uh, painted a very thorough picture, yeah,” Six says. They really need to pick through that and decide what’s important, but now isn’t the time. “So I’m walking in blind to a test with a room full of other test subjects who not only hate me for being what I am, but who’re also way more prepared for the test, and the people judging the test all wish I didn’t exist. That about right?”

“It’s a little more complicated but that is essentially it, yes.”

“Then tomorrow is going to be all kinds of fun,” Six says. “Just one thing. If they’re going to be seeing the videos, then they’ll know I was up here. Won’t that get you in trouble by itself?”

“I have a signed copy of the agreement we made with them three years ago stating quite clearly that I have the right to meet any experiments that successfully passed the simulation on the condition that some form of the disruptor be on its person at all times.”

Six looks at Alex in confusion. “But the chip wasn’t in my arm the entire way here.”

Alex’s smile is self-satisfied and defiant. “The device had to be functional and on your person. Those were the only requirements.”

“Smart.”

“I’d certainly like to think so.”

Remind them to never cross Alex. Six sighs, fingering the collar on their neck. “So what now?”

“For now, you should go back downstairs with January, and I should get back to work. We both have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. After that… You and I are going to change the world, Six.”

“Like the Neuromods did?” Six asks, gesturing towards the city visible through the windows.

That seems to get to Alex. He almost looks angry. “If we didn’t have the Neuromods the only difference would be that neither of us would be sitting here. Humanity would have been wiped out decades ago. But I accept that I had a part in this, Six. That’s why we’re here. It’s why you’re here.”

“I know. I’m just saying, what if we fail?”

“We die, and humanity dies with us.”

The silence is thick with the pressure that the statement puts on both of their shoulders. Six almost wants to complain, but it isn’t as though there would be a point. They were created for a single purpose. If they can’t fulfill it, they’re useless.

On that cheery note, the bland ringtone that they recognize as Alex’s goes off. The sound is coming from the bracelet around his wrist. It looks a lot like the tracking bracelets they’re familiar with from the simulation. Alex gets up and looks at his computer screen, then grimaces.

“I’ve got to take this, Six. It should only take a moment, I just need you to be quiet.”

“Got it,” they say. As Alex answers the phone they stand up, silently placing their mug on one of the low tables. They hadn’t been in the right mindset to appreciate the view when they’d entered Alex’s office but now that they’re paying attention they’re not sure that they could have enjoyed it anyways.

The world outside the window looks subtly different than they were expecting. They’d never even questioned the lack of glowing golden Coral in the TranStar building, but there isn’t any outside of it either. Not for a ways at least. The surrounding area is better maintained than the more distant city, every building in one piece, the streets they can see kept clean of debris. They can just make out a wall that has to be at least forty feet tall surrounding the area in better repair. Beyond that is an area best described as absolutely decimated. The space immediately beyond the walls looks bizarrely clear, but the structures past that are either full of holes or halfway into the streets. There’s a surprising amount of green splattered throughout the dead city, but the color dominating even the grey of the crumbling buildings is gold. The Coral is everywhere, branching through holes in roofs, poking through piled up bricks, piercing the sky and stretching so high they can’t see where it ends.

They walk to the window slowly, taking in the view. They’re still absorbing the new information when Alex approaches, his phone call ended.

“Christ, Alex.”

“It is quite the view, isn’t it?” Alex comes to stand next to them.

“The Coral… it’s everywhere.”

“I know. I showed it to you on that first day.”

“Why isn’t it in here? Or the area around here?”

“The same technology that is in the ‘necklace’. It is very effective in tearing apart the Coral, at least in a limited area. We’ve tried to get the disruptors onto one of the Coral Nodes that are on the planet, but our attack teams were destroyed by Apex Typhon. We stopped sending more people in when it became clear we wouldn’t be successful.”

“There are more of those things?”

“Two in North America alone. We can’t be sure, but we believe we have documented evidence of at least eight across the globe. Two for each of the largest Coral Nodes.”

Six curses quietly, despairing. “You’ve said before that the Coral is beautiful. I didn’t really get it even back then. It doesn’t matter what it looks like when it means that people are being killed and turned into monsters.”

Alex doesn’t speak for a minute or two, long enough that Six is sure he won’t reply. “I don’t know about that. Venomous animals are often very vibrantly colored. Waterfalls are deadly if you’re in the water. The sun will one day consume the planet. Beauty doesn’t have to be benevolent. You’re not wrong though - I admit I’ve come to associate it more closely with death than anything else.”

Six nods. “It’s scary when you know what it means.”

Alex turns away from the window, walking back to his desk. “I’ve just been informed that the improved mimicking Neuromod is finished and ready for testing, so I’ll be going down with you two. No one should try to speak to you with me there - the employees are rather nervous around the administrative staff.”

“Right.” They follow Alex and January, who has been so quiet that Six almost forgot he was there, out of the room. They try not to flinch at the looks that are directed their way as they follow one of the most powerful people in the building out of his office and into the elevator. As promised, no one tries to speak to them this time. Alex gets off a few floors above theirs with a hurried goodbye. That leaves just them and January in the elevator as it continues to descend.

“You agreed more easily than I anticipated. Why?” January asks almost the instant the doors slide shut.

“So what? You were less talkative than I expected.”

“There was no reason for me to speak.”

“But you’ve got something to say now?”

“Are you planning to answer my question?”

“What else was I going to do? Break out and live my life on the run? I don’t have a lot of options.”

“You did not seem that reluctant to me.”

“Is trusting Alex such a bad thing?”

“I suppose I should say no. But I would like to remind you that those who choose to trust Alex have a tendency to wind up dead.”

“That isn’t his fault!” Six says, instantly defensive.

The elevator doors slide open, and the two of them start down the hallway. “Alex claims that it is a good sign that you have access to Morgan’s memories. He believes that it will enable you to fit in with humans. I have my doubts. I see they are founded.”

They don’t need to ask what he means. “It isn’t a problem. I know who I am.”

“Do you really, Morgan?” January asks. The name sends a chill down their spine that settles like a rock in their chest. They don’t respond. January comes to a stop on one side of the door to the room of turrets.

“Thanks,” they mutter, walking around him.

“Six. You should think about what we discussed.”

Six doesn’t respond. They don’t need to be reminded that they aren’t Morgan. They know that. They know.

 

The next day January returns to guide them to the testing. He doesn’t say a word about their conversation yesterday, doesn’t really speak at all. They discover to their surprise that the testing is taking place in the TranStar building a few levels below theirs. They don’t get to see any of the others taking the test, or those judging. Instead they’re ushered into a very, very small room - at most seven feet square - and told to wait, the door closing and trapping them in the tiny space.

Six bounces on their heels, watching the door. They almost feel like they should be stretching, but there would be no point and it would probably be best if they looked confident and ready to go. Six feels a bit more like their insides are tied into knots but that’s really about the same thing, right?

They’d love to be able to say that they feel prepared, but they know nothing about what they’re about to walk into. According to Alex they’ll be the only person who wasn’t told exactly what they would need to do, and they still have to be among the best of the test takers. They don’t even know if there can be more than one successful experiment.

They notice a strange sound. Two, actually. One is the fainted snap of electricity, the other something like gears grinding together.

The entire structure falls apart around them, nearly crushing them under the walls. They just barely manage to catch the door before it falls on top of them. They push it away and are immediately hit with a kinetic blast that sends them staggering back into a wall. They grab the discarded door with their Typhon limbs and hold it up like a shield to absorb the next blast. When they drop it they see a Mimic charging across the floor, a Phantom not five feet away, and electrical arcs coming from around the corner.

One of their Typhon limbs cuts through the Mimic as another shears through the Phantom’s arm. They grab the Phantom and fling it into the Voltaic Phantom coming around the corner. Both Phantoms fall to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The Voltaic Phantom throws the other away a second later and takes Six’s blast directly, stumbling back. Six follows the blast by punching holes in the Phantom’s chest, ignoring the slight sting of the electricity. They nearly take an electrical shock to the head, barely managing to roll out of the way. When they look up the Voltaic Phantom is charging at them full speed. They roll again and it rams headfirst into a section of the collapsed wall, blood seeping from its torso as it turns for another go. Six quickly decapitates it and follows up by tearing off its arms. The body falls to the floor.

They stand up and look for more enemies, but there are none. The Voltaic Phantom had dealt the final blow to the other Phantom when it had thrown the other aside. The Mimic is lying where it fell, and nothing else is moving. Six was expecting a bit more of an introduction to the testing but then again a surprise test makes more sense. The only exit to the room is around the corner that the Voltaic Phantom had come from. They head that direction, listening for more attacks. One of the bricks at their feet begins to move and a Typhon limb snatches it up and slams it into the ground once, twice, before throwing it into the wall. The Mimic doesn’t move again.

It turns out that there isn’t much beyond the corner but an automatic door that opens for them as they approach. Beyond that is a large room. Inside is a scattered group of people splattered in Typhon blood. There can’t be more than ten, although the other doors lining the room indicate that there might soon be more. Their hunch proves correct when another door a few down from theirs opens to admit a young man with fire running up and down his arms. He looks at all of them for a moment before the flames extinguish, but doesn’t go to speak with anyone. No one else is speaking either, and it leaves the room eerily silent.

A few more people join the group as the minutes wear on, but still nobody speaks or really moves. Six is beginning to wonder if that was really all the testing that was to be done for the day when the floor they’re standing on begins to move. It ascends a floor or so until the once distant ceiling is now a more reasonable twenty feet above their head. The space that they stop in has one wall made entirely of metal doorways. As they look around they realize that everyone else is moving to the doors and hurry to catch up. They hang out near the back of the group, uncertain and shy.

“Hey, you’re Alex Yu’s subject, right?”

The voice is unsettlingly friendly, and the face that Six turns to see matches it. The man is in his early forties, heavily tanned and tattooed, with short blond hair and hazel eyes. He looks like someone inclined towards smiling even if his expression is currently more curiosity than anything else.

“I guess so. Why?”

“‘Cause I’m wondering what everybody else here is. Why the _fucking hell_ they let a Typhon in,” the man says, expression morphing to furious hostility.

Six looks at him in shock. “I- I’m not-”

“Save it, Typhon. I don’t know what the hell Yu thinks he’s pulling or how he managed to get you to listen to him, but lemme tell you something. Everybody else here? We earned the right to be here for being the best at killing things like you. And there isn’t a rule against killing in there.”

The other test takers are now watching the confrontation. The expressions that Six can see are all approving and furious, like if the man in front of them hadn’t spoken up they would have. He chuckles. It almost sounds friendly.

“Looking forward to seeing you in there, buddy,” he says, raising a hand to his shotgun threateningly. Someone behind him draws a thumb across their throat while meeting Six’s eyes.

The humans go back to ignoring them as the speakers come back on. As the announcer speaks the steel doors open, revealing seven different tunnels extending into darkness. “The first section of the testing is now over. Of the initial thirty seven, twenty six are still fit to continue testing. The second section is a test of your skill set. There is only one goal - to reach the end of this phase of testing, which will be one of several doorways lit with red lights. You will have one hour to exit through these doors, after which they will seal. Attempting to break through them after they close will result in your sponsor being banned from testing for the next month or three test cycles, whichever is sooner. All participants will now choose one of the seven available paths. No fighting among the test takers is permitted for the first five minutes of this test. All participants, choose your path now.”

Six picks one at random, ending up in front of the tunnel over from the leftmost one. It isn’t until the voice resumes speaking that they notice no one else chose the same beginning route.

“Testing section two begins on my count.”

The instant that the announcer hits one Six starts jogging. They can hear the competitors on either side of them sprinting ahead. Six isn’t worried. With an entire hour to get through whatever is ahead of them they’d almost have to be trying to fail. There was no need to test their speed - this couldn’t be solely a race. The space ahead of them is no doubt teeming with Typhon and who knows what else. They’re not going to race into anything without knowing what lay ahead, and they aren’t about to charge right into another competitor. They’d all made it quite clear what they thought of Six.

Their caution pays off when they come into an open space a little ways in. It’s decorated as an office space so similar to the Talos 1 that they’re almost sure it’s intentional, the corners of the room dark and impossible to see clearly. They take a step in and hear movement against the floor. Their Typhon limbs extend and sharpen. One grabs ahold of a desk chair and flings it at their attacker, causing the Phantom to stagger. Their next grab isn’t so lucky. The computer instantly transforms back into a Mimic, squirming and cutting at their arm. They fling it anyways and the Phantom goes down. Their kinetic blast catches both of their opponents, killing the Mimic and stunning the Phantom. They grab ahold of it and fling it into the opposing wall. They’re about to follow it up with another blast when a sharp pain in their arm draws their attention to what had been a book. This Mimic is crushed under another Typhon limb and Six finishes off the Phantom with their handgun instead.

When no other attackers appear, Six lowers their gun and starts making their way through the room. They catch the sound of running footsteps behind them and instantly fall to the floor behind a desk. They’re wary of everyone else after their experience before. Avoiding everyone that they can is their best bet. They pick a crumpled up wad of paper and mimic it, hoping that the others won’t think to scan the room for Mimics.

The two people who run by are unfamiliar, although that could be because Six can only see their feet and lower legs. One is very obviously an Operator - silver metal above their boots, footsteps heavier than the slight frame would allow for. The other is probably human, with dark brown combat boots and denim jeans. They’re also breathing, unlike the Operator. Neither notices Six, and despite the three way fork in the road following the room they stick together and disappear into the gloom of the leftmost path. Nothing chases after them even when Six gives it a good half minute to be sure. Were they working together? It isn’t a bad plan, and no one had said it was against some kind of rule. Kind of sucks for Six though.

Six changes back into their human form and follows the other two out, taking the right path and hoping that they don’t run into them again. They keep going, only running into two Phantoms and one Cystoid Nest that take a minute or two to get rid of. They’ve just started to hope that they’ve picked the easiest of the available paths when they almost crash headfirst into a dead end. They curse and turn around, trying to calculate how much time they’d wasted coming here. They look back at the wall like they’re hoping it will have suddenly grown a door, but no such luck.

Six doubles back, sprinting as fast as they can. They’ve just passed the remains of one of the Phantoms they’d killed when they skid to a halt. The person in front of them also freezes, staring at them. Six recognizes him as the one who’d called them out as Alex’s subject just as he figures out who they are. His expression hardens as he raises his shotgun. Six doesn’t give him the chance to fire. They bolt, turning the corner they’d just come around as the first round hits the wall they’d been standing in front of. Six keeps going, driven by desperation. They can’t hear anyone chasing them but they’re not about to stop and double check. They round the corner right in front of the dead end and stop, looking around for an exit they know doesn’t exist. They look skyward like they think Alex is going to be there giving them commands as usual, and find salvation. The wall doesn’t extend all the way to the ceiling - there is a very narrow gap at the top, maybe a foot wide. Six launches themself up the wall, climbing as fast as they can. They hear footsteps behind them as they reach the top and launch themself through the gap. Behind them another round hits the ceiling.

They drop back to the floor and look back, comforted by the sight of the sturdy wall between them and their attacker. They start forward again, hoping he won’t be able to climb like they had but unwilling to bet on it.

They get lucky for a long while, even if they do find quite a few more dead ends. They don’t encounter anyone else, just a few Mimics that they catch and kill before they can hurt them. As they follow a path that they hope won’t be their fourth dead end in a row - one had cost them an entire ten minutes! - they hear something up ahead. They slow down and move cautiously.

“No, no, no please, no,” a new, definitively human voice begs up ahead.

Six freezes, listening.

“Get… out… of my... head….”

“I don’t want to! I won’t!”

“Please, if you can hear me, don’t come! Stay away!”

There’s no mistaking the desperation in those voices. They’re mind controlled humans, puppets to a Telepath. Six curses. They’re uncomfortably aware of the time limit bearing down on them, and dealing with Telepaths without killing their hostages had been nearly impossible even when they’d had all of the time in the world. On the other hand, these humans wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for the testing. There was no possible way for TranStar to have brought in a Telepath and humans already under its control. These people had been put into a sadistic maze they hadn’t volunteered for. Six could sympathize.

Also they really, _really_ hate Telepaths.

Their grin is more a baring of teeth than an expression of emotion as they leap upwards, clinging to the ceiling. They climb into the room hanging out above the heads of the controlled humans. The Telepath hasn’t even noticed them, and the humans can’t get close enough to explode. Perfect.

Their kinetic blast connects with the Telepath as they draw their hand gun and fire. Ten shots later they remove the clip with one Typhon limb before slamming another in with a different one. The Telepath barely gets a chance to turn in their direction before another blast finishes it off and it crashes to the floor. The humans fall with it, but not even one had died in the process.

Six sighs in relief and leaps to the floor. They stoop down to check one of the fallen humans and flinch in surprise. The human wasn’t human. Their skin was cleverly disguised metal, the seams barely visible. They sort of want to be irritated that they were tricked, but it’s a relief. They’re about to be working for TranStar, they were created by its CEO. They wouldn’t want to be a part of a company that would take such a callous approach to human life.

Continuing forward they don’t find as much opposition. They pass through one room littered in the parts of at least two Phantoms and other that’s entirely empty even if they doubt it started that way. Further along is a corridor thoroughly infested with Cystoid Nests. Six has to proceed slowly, destroying the nests with kinetic blasts to avoid allowing them to spew the explosive Cystoids. The time limit they’d been so confident in being able to meet suddenly seems a lot closer. The speakers announce ten minutes remaining as they enter a long hallway with a brightly lit exit at one end. Beyond it they can see a blue lit door and behind it a room filled with metal supports. The exit.

Six had abandoned caution in favor of speed, but now they slow down. They can’t lose at the last minute. As they move forward, their boots make a sound like they’ve stepped onto a floor covered in drying soft drink. They look down. They’d stepped on the outer edges of a small puddle of some dark, sticky liquid.

They spring to the side as fire bathes the space they’d been standing in. A humanoid shape is barely visible as it moves ahead of them, whatever is disguising it not quite standing up to movement. A second later they’re hit by bullets from behind. They duck and spring past the camouflaged shape, barely managing to stop before they step into a wall of poorly disguised landmines. They’re on the walls, floor and ceiling, a thorough blockade. Just beyond them is another of the test takers, a woman with long hair who isn't moving.

Six turns in time to see a human in dark clothing reloading his handgun. They throw a Thermal attack at his feet, sending him stumbling back. A faint movement to their right is their only warning before a knife is plunging towards their head. They barely manage to stop it before it hits them, struggling against the oppressive strength of their opponent. Bullets fly their direction, one hitting their still recovering arm. The arm loses strength, unable to stop the blade. Then the world is heat and pain and noise, sending them sprawling. A metallic crash echoes around them as they stagger to their feet. The previously invisible opponent is revealed to be an Operator. They’d both been sent flying by an explosion - Six can feel the burnt flesh of their back protesting as they regain their feet.

The Operator is faster than they are, rolling away instantly and jumping to its feet. The air grows thicker as four spheres of yellow-white light appear around it. Six dodges the first kinetic blast and counters the second, but the resulting force sends them sprawling. The third blast hits them an instant later and they skid across the floor. The fourth attack isn’t a direct hit, but it does send them crashing into another wall, stunning them. A heavy boot kicks their side as they lay there. Its owner just laughs, starting to speak.

Six wraps two Typhon limbs around the foot and drags its owner down as they shove themself to their feet. They whip the human back and fling him forward, sending him flying through the wall of mines. The bombs explode as soon as the his head soars past them, the man caught in the blast. Another kinetic blast flies at them and Six ducks, sending out Thermal blasts in the general direction of the Operator. They rush forward and tackle its legs, sending both of them hard into the floor. They don’t give the Operator a moment to recover, arm morphing into a giant, clawed Typhon limb and plunging through its chest. They grab what they can and pull. Wires snap, electricity rushing through their body, metal screaming. The Operator goes limp.

Six shoves it away and pushes themself to their hands and knees, looking frantically for the human. The hallway in front of them is charred, with no sign of their other opponent. Six lets themself fall to the floor, groaning. They’re in a lot of pain. Bullets admittedly don’t do much damage, but those kinetic blasts really hurt and their skin is still burned from the earlier explosion.

Their break lasts only a few moments before they push themself onto unsteady feet. Their body is repairing itself already, bullet holes sealing as the bullets themselves fall to the floor. The other human had cleared the hallway of bombs for them. How considerate.

Six stops next to the human they’d seen earlier. They move her hair away from her face, seeing that she’s quite a bit paler than they think she should be. Their fingers find a clear, strong pulse however, to their relief. They lean back and look down at her. They aren’t sure whether or not they should move her. They assume that the other researchers won’t be eager to lose their work but they’re also positive that no one is allowed to do anything until the testing has ended.

Ultimately, their decision is made for them. They’re just about to leave when a twenty seconds remaining alert comes over the speakers. At the same time, a Technopath emerges at the other end of the hallway. Six makes a snap decision, grabbing the woman and holding her in both arms as they wrap a Typhon limb around the Operator and flee. It takes a moment for their feet to obey them and they stumble for a few steps before beginning to run. They clear the doorway and slide to a stop, placing the other two down as they prepare for another fight. The Technopath is moving towards them, the door just starting to slide shut, but the door wins. It clicks shut with finality, a voice declaring that portion of the testing finished and warning all able participants to make their way to the platform up top within twenty minutes for the final stage.

Six sinks to the floor, legs splayed out in front of them as they close their eyes. They’re more than ready for a break.

_Beep._

Typhon limbs around the human and the Operator, two more launching all three skyward.

_Beep._

A blast echoes through the room. The floor where the three of them were sitting is scorched, the outer layers of the nearby metal melted and disfigured. Six lands on the beams and looks for their attacker. Footsteps are fleeing upwards, accompanied by raucous laughter. They growl but can’t do anything about it just yet. They get back onto the ground and place the other two down as well. The woman is just beginning to move, eyes twitching. Six looks around in the hopes that some kind of medical Operator will be approaching but finds themself alone.

The woman sits up suddenly then moans, clutching her head. Her expression is pained as she looks up and spots Six. She’s instantly on guard and suspicious, eyes darting to take in her surroundings.

Six holds up their hands in what they hope looks like a peaceful gesture. They wince when they see that one of their arms is still the weaponized version they’d used to tear out the Operator’s insides. Turning it back to its human form only earns them a distrustful glare.

“What did you do?” she asks, hands flying to her waist for a gun that is already gone. “Where the hell did you put my gun?!”

“You were ambushed by this guy,” Six says, nudging the Operator with a foot, “And his buddy. I didn’t do anything.”

“Right. Then why am I here and not back there?”

“There was a Technopath. I wasn’t going to leave you there.”

“What kind of idiot doesn’t know all of the testing Typhon have kill switches? Or are you trying to trick me?”

Six would feel embarrassed if they weren’t already pissed off. “I don’t know, the kind of idiot who wasn’t told shit about this fucking test and walked in blind? Like, you know, all of us were supposed to?”

The woman just laughs, a hard, harsh bark. “Were you born yesterday? That’s just common fuckin’ sense.”

Six snarls and turns away. “Fuck you.”

“Awh, did the Typhon want me to thank it for pretending to have feelings?”

Six tries to tell themself to be an adult as they grab ahold of the steel bars, but they’re hurt and they’re angry and yeah, maybe they’d appreciate being treated like an actual person for once in their fucking life. “At least I’m not the sore loser who lost to some ‘Typhon’ born ten days ago. Go fuck yourself, lady.”

With that they ignore whatever else the woman has to say and launch themself skyward. Their body has healed somewhat, the black blood staining their uniform mostly from sealed wounds. Their chest and stomach aren’t in good shape, but they can move, and they’re more than motivated enough to finish this. They weren’t here for a fight, but they’re not leaving until they finish one.

They soar into the air above the platform and land hard as the speakers announce five minutes remaining until the next test. They do a quick count - six humans, two Operators, and one very well burnt asshole in combat boots. He looks thrilled to see them again, flexing his fingers in anticipation. Six gives him a flat stare before they sit down where they were standing, closing their eyes to regain as much energy as they can. When the speakers crackle to life again they shove themself to their feet with some difficulty.

“Of our beginning testers we have ten remaining. This next test will take place in a simulated city-” the walls fall away as the voice continues, revealing a city somewhat similar to the ones Six is familiar with, the floor moving in to seal away the space beneath them to create solid ground “-similar to the ones that those who succeed today will be working in. This test is simpler than the others. We have ten people, and for you to succeed you must defeat at least one other opponent. Teams are forbidden. If two parties are engaged in a fight you must leave the area. Anyone who chooses to wait out the time instead of fighting will earn their sponsor a ban from testing for the next three months or six tests, whichever is longer. Once the test begins you must wait five minutes before any fighting. This includes use of all forms of explosives. Traps are forbidden, ambushes are acceptable. Anything else is fair play. All fights end fifteen minutes from the end of the five minute preparation period regardless of whether or not there is a winner. The five minute preparation period begins now.”

Six had anticipated something like this. An honest evaluation of their current physical state leads them to the obvious conclusion that they can’t afford to fight anyone in very good shape. The other testers are worn and wounded, but they have no way of knowing how many are playing it up and no one looks half as bad as they feel. It might be partially an appeal to their wounded pride and personal vendetta, but they’re immediately certain that the only opponent for them is Mr. Combat Boots. He’s already injured from the mines, and he’s fought at least two other testers. Luckily, he seems to feel the same way. He crooks a finger as they stare at each other. Six watches as he saunters away with a slight limp he’s trying very hard to hide before they climb up the side of a building, following him from the rooftops. He comes to a stop in a dilapidated park, standing beside the broken water fountain that is spilling its contents onto the bricks around it. Six jumps off of the low roof of a shop and walks up to him warily. The announcer hadn’t said they could begin fighting, but they weren’t taking any chances.

“So, you survived my bomb,” he says conversationally. The speakers announce one minute to go. “How is our friend the Operator after all that?”

“Very nearly blown to pieces. You abandoned your partner.”

He just shrugs. “Our ‘sponsors’ are buddy-buddy. We were told to find each other and make sure both of us got to the end. I decided it was against my interests to keep working with him.”

“I am ever impressed by your ability to be a fucking asshole.”

The man laughs. “And you aren’t? Typhon are cold-blooded killers.”

“I’m not a Typhon,” Six snaps.

“Oh?”

“Oh go fuck yourself. Are we doing this or not you explosive prick?” Six asks, shedding their human form and noting with satisfaction that he is unsettled by the sight.

“Just waiting on the cue, Typhon bitch.” Their opponent reaches into the pockets covering his TranStar uniform and withdraws a handgun and another grenade

The two in the park are still, the underground city eerily silent, none of the other test subjects in sight.

“Begin.”

Neither fighter moves. Six studies their opponent’s face as he tries to read theirs and fails. Frustration, hate, fear. Not a good combination. They’ve also realized far too late that their mid to close range attacks will be a poor match for his long range and they’re down to their last clip of bullets.

The man’s hand twitches and Six rolls, dodging the spray of bullets. They bat the grenade away with a Typhon limb and it’s their opponent’s turn to flee from his own attack.

He stumbles as the blast catches him from behind and takes the following kinetic blast head on. Six is about to press their advantage when he starts shooting wildly in their direction and they drop behind the fountain for cover. Something crashes to the ground behind them and Six springs into the air, catching another couple of bullets but avoiding the grenade. They grab one of the chunks of cement from the fountain and hurl it at him. He is hit by the shrapnel and goes down, but he’s already moving to aim at them again.

Six runs, zig-zagging and ducking behind trees to avoid the bullets following them. One cuts their arm but the rest miss. Once they’ve gained distance and there are no more bullets clipping the trees around them, they stop, hiding behind a tree. They need a plan and a moment to rest. Their legs feel unsteady under them, the wounds covering their body bleeding heavily and not healing. This has to end soon.

They catch movement out of the cover of their eye and leap skyward, sending a kinetic blast in the general direction of their enemy. Their jump is knocked off course by the bomb exploding underneath them, but he doesn’t get a chance to shoot them before they land, staggering, and run again.

They’re looking for him when they’re hit by a spray of bullets from behind, turning only to find themself unable to see him. They have to get close. He’s at too much of an advantage like this. To their right, they hear the sound of a stick breaking, followed closely by boots stumbling on leaves and fervent cursing. Their opponent is in plain view, only twenty feet away with one hand on a tree and the other holding another grenade. He looks up to see them at the same moment they start to attack.

Six hurls a kinetic blast at him just as he throws a grenade. The two meet in mid air and explode, knocking both fighters onto their backs. Six is up and moving before the shrapnel of a statue that was just a bit too close hits the ground. Their opponent is still moaning and covering his eyes when they reach him. They grab each of his limbs and hoist him into the air, wrapping another limb around his neck. The man freezes, staring in their general direction but obviously still blinded.

“I win,” Six says.

“No.”

“You can’t escape. So I win.”

“That isn’t how this works!”

“I’m pretty sure-”

“A Typhon can’t pass the testing for anti-Typhon weaponry! We should be killing you, not giving you unfettered access to the world’s last hope!” the man roars, fighting against their grip. Several of his grenades drop uselessly to the ground, metal clicking on stone.

“I haven’t done anything wrong! The only people here who tried to kill anyone were human! That bastard with the shotgun and you. Why do you have the right to accuse me of anything?” Six demands, bristling.

“I don’t,” he says, suddenly, disturbingly calm. “But if I can’t win you won’t either.”

Six realizes what had happened a moment too late. The explosives he’d dropped earlier blow up, sending them flying. They hit the ground hard, skidding to a stop, their blood staining the grass black. They’re just barely conscious enough to turn their head and see their arm hanging on by a few ropy strands of Typhon material before they black out.

They don’t think it’s been that long when they wake up. The area that had blown up is still smoking, and their opponent is splayed out on the ground not too far away. The tree he’s fallen under has blood dripping down the bark and the scratches on his temple pretty clearly display what had happened. Six gets to their feet slowly, noting that their arm is still in a lot of pain but looks more like it was supposed to be a part of their body than the dangling limb had before.

The sound of heavy shoes on grass has them looking up to find that the TranStar building guards have entered the testing area. Several have guns pointed in their direction, but an almost equal amount are focused on the man behind them. That group passes Six as the other one stops a few feet from them.

“Subject Six,” one of them says, a young man with a strangely familiar face. “Testing has ended. The results of your testing are contested. As such we have been instructed to take you back to your room until further notice.”

“Right,” Six says, mind moving sluggishly. “Wait, I didn’t win? I thought I just had to disarm him?”

“Those were the instructions, yes. Doctor Rembrel contests that neither of you were incapacitated until after the bombs went off, and therefore both passed. Some of the judges believe that the explosion was a victory for Jaune.”

“Oh. That was his name. Is he alive?”

“I would like to remind you that the testing is over. No actions now can change the results.”

“Fucking hell, I didn’t ask if I could go stab him, I asked if he was alive. Moron set off bombs right under our feet but that doesn’t mean I want him dead.”

The guard just looks at them strangely. “Follow us please.”

Six gives up on talking and does as they’re told. They can just barely hear the sounds of raised voices from behind them as they’re escorted to their room. An unknown medical Operator is waiting in the elevator when they get inside. It follows them back into their room and does its best to repair the damage despite not having been built to fix anything like Six. They do get a nice dose of painkillers though. They fall asleep once it's gone, their last thought wondering if they’d be allowed to wake up again.

 

  
They almost wish they hadn’t been. Six groans as they come back to consciousness. Their arm has subsided to a pounding ache, each of the holes left by the bullets pulsing, the burns on their body that the Operator hadn’t been able to repair making their skin feel like it’s on fire.

“It’s good to see you awake, Six.”

“Alex?” Six asks, shocked.

“Sarah and I are here too,” Mikhaila says.

Six opens their eyes to find the three of them beside their bed. Alex is sitting on their chair, Sarah looming behind his back, Mikhaila hovering by their head.

“I guess I sort of ruined all your hard work,” they say, trying for a joke and realizing that they can’t smile because they’re still in their Typhon form. It takes effort to return to their human form that leaves them more tired than before.

“We should consider ourselves lucky you aren’t dead,” Mikhaila says with surprising vehemence. They look to Alex for answers only to find him looking very beleaguered and maybe a touch guilty.

“It was the only way to get them outside of this room, Mikhaila,” Alex says.

“I agree that it’s some kind of miracle it didn’t die in the testing, but it isn’t human, Mika,” Sarah says. “This is why it was created.”

“‘It’ is right here,” Six interrupts what is promising to become an argument, pushing themself into a seated position with one arm and leaning against the wall behind them. “Why are you all here, anyways?”

“Mikhaila wanted to be sure you’re healing well, Sarah thinks we need protecting, and I’m here to congratulate you on being one of the victors of the test,” Alex says.

“Wait, I thought the outcome was being contested? And what happened to the guy I was fighting?”

“It was decided that as you’d incapacitated him before he could use the bombs, he lost the fight. There was also a good deal of debate over whether or not the explosives could count as a trap, but that is ultimately what it came down to. He’ll be unconscious for a few more days but should consider himself lucky he didn’t kill himself with that stunt.”

“Thank god,” Six sighs, tension falling from their body. They hadn’t even realized how worried they were over it.

Mikhaila’s thin metal appendages extend from her sides as she scans them. “Six, are all of the bullets gone? I can’t find any but the scanners only work so well.”

“I think so. I don’t know if you really need to look me over. I’m fine.”

“Then give me your arm.” The request sounds a bit more like a threat.

Six is tempted to pretend they don’t know what she’s talking about, but something tells them it wouldn’t go over well. They hold out their injured arm for her to inspect, wincing as the movement runs through their upper arm. Mikhaila’s grip is surprisingly gentle, but that doesn’t stop Six from digging the fingers of their other hand into the bedsheets as she moves their arm. Their fingers feel somewhat deadened but move without pain. Bending their elbow really hurts, as does straightening it. It isn’t until Mikhaila tries to raise their arm over their shoulder that Six can’t hold the shriek of pain muted by their sealed lips. Mikhaila immediately stops, easing their arm back down to their side, where Six cradles it.

“You’re lucky you’re not human. It’s repairing itself, but the process is slow. I’m concerned that it’s also slowed substantially since it first happened.”

“It should regenerate even if the arm was entirely gone,” Alex says. “Is something wrong?”

“My scanner can only do so much, Alex. I’m only getting one abnormal reading aside from the obvious and I don’t know what it means.”

“That sounds like a good thing,” Six says.

“Yes, well, your anatomy is a bit of a mystery to us Six. Modifying my software to accommodate what we did know can only do so much.”

“Mikhaila, you said that you’re detecting an abnormality that your scanner can read but not identify?” Alex asks.

“Yes?”

Alex stands up and walks to Six’s desk, picking up their usual evening food tray. He brings it back and places it on the bed beside them. “Your body may be too low on energy to continue repairing itself. It’s a guess, but it certainly can’t hurt to try.”

Six eases their injured arm into their lap, trying to ignore the pain. They pick up an orange and just hold onto it, letting it dissolve into their hand. They’re too tired to even consider chewing. It’s with surprise that they realize that despite their exhaustion not being lifted they have a noticeable amount more feeling in the fingers of their injured arm. The ration bar produces a much more pronounced effect - they can actually feel the pain of the bullet holes fading, and they can see their thigh repairing itself through the tear in their suit. Apparently Alex sees it as well, because he immediately sends a message to the guards requesting more food. Ten ration bars, a variety of fruit, and a candy bar later Six is buzzing with energy. The aches scattered through their body are gone, burns healed.

Mikhaila scans them again. “I’m still getting abnormal readings from your left arm. Is it fully healed?”

Six tests their injured arm, extending and bending it. “It’s still sore. Guess there are some things that only time can fix.”

“Your regenerative ability is impressive,” Alex says. “Now, Mikhaila, are you convinced that Six is as healthy as you are capable of making them?”

“I suppose I have to say yes. I can’t do anything else for them.”

“Sarah, are you convinced that Six isn’t going to try to kill me?”

“No. But I suppose you’re about to tell me to leave anyways.”

“You would be correct.”

“Fine. You can die if that’s what you want, Alex.”

“Get out,” Alex says, tone brooking no argument. His expression doesn’t change.

Mikhaila finally speaks up. “Before that. Six, would you mind if I program my contact information into your necklace? It will make it easier for you to contact me than trying to find me or getting someone else to call me over.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I mean, kind of you. It’s kind of you,” Six says. Smooth.

Mikhaila just laughs and says, “Good, I just put it in. If you need to speak with me, just say ‘Call Mikhaila Ilyushin’. Your necklace can handle it from there. I will be seeing you later, Six.”

“Thanks,” they say, watching as the two women leave. The door has barely shut behind them when Alex sighs.

“I’m sorry about Sarah. It isn’t really you she’s angry with. She was one of those present when the footage was being reviewed. She wasn’t impressed by my ‘common sense’ as she put it.”

“It looked like she was angry that you and Mikhaila were here. Are you guys close or something?”

“Sarah takes her job very seriously, as she should. But in a way, yes. The few of us who survived the Typhon outbreak aboard the Talos 1 and survived on Earth afterwards became rather close.”

Six nods, thoughts dwelling on the testing. “So. How much work did you have to do to convince them I won?”

“Not that much. We’ve had similar cases millions of times. Desperate people throwing anything they can think of at their opponents even after they know they’ve been beat. Normally there wouldn’t even be an argument over whether or not you’d won, but you already know why it happened.”

“How much of me is Typhon, anyways?”

Alex hesitates. “Well, the majority. What separates you from them is the mirror neurons, and Morgan’s memories.”

“So they’re right and I’m just like the Phantoms.”

“Physically, sure. For the most part. But Six, you know what the Typhon are like. You know they can’t speak, that they aren’t capable of emotion. Are you unable to communicate?”

Six shrugs, looking away.

“Exactly. And you’re proving that you can feel just like any human through your current actions. You feel guilt, the pain of rejection, a small measure of happiness because you won a very difficult competition. So you tell me, Six. Are you Typhon?”

“No. But I’m not human either.”

“You’re human enough, Six,” Alex says. One of his hands enters their line of sight before hesitating and pulling back. The other comes to rest on their uninjured shoulder, gripping it in a way that’s both intensely comforting and supportive. “No, you’re not human. But neither are most of us, really. How many times can you stick Typhon material into your brain before you’re not entirely human anymore?”

“They don’t see it that way. How am I supposed to help anyone when they don’t trust me?”

“That’s my job. People trust in me, in TranStar. We just have to prove that we haven’t gone mad by trusting you.”

“Alex. You know you’ve been asking for my trust since I woke up here, right?”

“Of course I do. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’ve been holding back some of that trust, believing that there had to be a way out. Until yesterday I think there was. But I chose to put on this collar and I chose to trust you. Don’t make me regret that,” Six says, looking Alex in the eye. They don’t know enough to make their own decisions. They don’t even really know enough about Alex to make an informed decision about whether or not to trust him, but they already chose and they want him to know that.

Alex meets their gaze without flinching. “I know. I can’t thank you enough, Six. I’m going to prove that you’ve made the right choice, I promise.”

Six just nods, suddenly drained. Alex notices their exhaustion and stands. “I have work to do, and you need to rest. We’ll let you recover for a few days before you have to do anything else. Mikhaila reminded me to tell you - you can contact me at any time using the same command she told you. It’s a direct line to my personal bracelet so you won’t need to go through my secretary. Please only use it if there is a dire need. Good night, Six.”

“‘Night,” they echo, watching as Alex turns off the lights before he leaves. They aren’t sure what to think, and the bed is comfortable, and if they lay down at just the right angle nothing hurts, so they go to sleep and shove their problems away for later. Or maybe never, if they can avoid them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to note that AP World History is not, in fact, an easy class to pass. William Yu seems like the kind of guy who calls biology a soft science (an actual thing a physics major told me once) and tells technical editors that English shouldn’t be an available college major as they work on editing something for him. Basically he’s a dick. Who let this man be a parent? 
> 
> Also, thank you so much to everyone who commented and left kudos, you guys are great! I honestly wasn't expecting more than like two kudos and a two word comment if I was lucky haha. I just hope you guys continue to like the story!
> 
> Was it weird to anyone else to realize that in 2045 (approximately when this fanfic takes place) most millennials will be parents, or at least in their early 50's or even in their 60s? Like you might sit there thinking Alex Yu is way older than you but I bet you anything he was born in the mid 1990's. He would be about my age (21) right now! Isn't that bizarre?
> 
> P.S. Anyone think the names of those single player card games were interesting? Spiders, Emperors, Cold hands, and the Devil's grip... Hm....  
> P.P.S. Share your Prey headcanons with me in the comments, I'm curious. Even silly stuff, like I hc Morgan has terrible eyesight without glasses, but refuses to wear them until his parents cave in and get him contacts. I want to hear them all!


	3. Six Is Bad With People, Emotions, And Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, I'm not dead. Yet.
> 
> And this chapter is 20k words, so it might just make up for the lengthy delay. It also brings the word count to 56666, ironically.
> 
> Trigger warnings - Violence, some creepy details regarding dead bodies, and both ill and well intended misgendering of Six.
> 
> On a side note, you'd have to write roughly 75k words to run out of available characters per chapter. I can't imagine why you wouldn't break up something that long into multiple chapters, but hey. It's definitely a thing you could theoretically do.

Fifteen steps, pivot, fifteen steps, glance at clock.

7:45

Fifteen steps, pivot, fifteen steps. Their eyes betray them by looking at the clock again.

7:45

Fifteen steps- What if it’s broken? What if it stopped fifteen minutes before eight o’clock and that’s why it feels like it’s been a year since the last time the number changed? Six takes the six steps back to the clock and removes it from the wall, pressing it to one ear. Was that the sound of clock machinery moving or was it their imagination? They put the clock down on their desk and dig through a drawer, coming back up with a pair of tweezers that could probably act as a makeshift screwdriver if they just-

The clock now reads 7:46.

Six puts down the tweezers and returns the clock to the wall. They’re too worried about this. They just have to wait four more minutes. Nobody would fault them for being early.

Unless they’re not early. What if the meeting had started at seven that morning and Six was missing it? Or maybe it was scheduled for tonight and they’d get into the elevator and show up twelve hours early. Or the guards would shoot them for being in the administrative wing when they weren’t supposed to be.

Or maybe they’ll save them the trouble and worry themself to death.

They scrub their hands over their face and groan, sitting on their bed. They have a paper outlining when and where they need to go. It’s sitting on their desk, the date and time - today, at eight o’clock AM - circled and facing upwards just like it has been since January gave it to them. There’s nothing for them to do but wait until ten minutes before they needed to be upstairs, then leave their room and meet January at the elevator.

And then survive a meeting with the nine most important people on the North American continent. Several of whom are either William Yu’s close friends or paid very well to pretend to be, while most of the others were similarly bound to Catherine Yu. People whose opinions matter, because they’d have very little trouble ordering Six’s execution. Or causing Alex significant trouble if his experiment makes a fool of themself.

They don’t even have to do much more than stand there and answer questions, but they weren’t able to sleep all night and decided to spend it wearing a rut in the floor instead.

It didn’t help.

7:49

Six shakes themself and squares their shoulders, staring the reflection in the mirror down. They can lift seven hundred pounds, they just beat more than twenty five of the best humanity had to throw at them, and they’ve got a man who is arguably more powerful than all of the other board members put together on their side. They will not be intimidated.

Well. At least they’re a decent liar.

They leave their room by themself. They feel exposed without an escort, but the feeling doesn’t last long. January is waiting in front of the elevator when they round the corner. He presses the call button as they approach.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“Oh, absolutely. Half a page of information on nine people who could still have me killed in my sleep was absolutely enough to prepare me for this. Slept like a baby.”

“Do you remember my warning to you, the first time we met?” he asks, moving through the newly opened elevator doors. “The one where I told you to be very careful about what you say.”

Six follows, standing behind him. “Vividly.”

“I doubt it, since you’ve ignored it. You’ve been spoiled by Alex and Mikhaila. They don’t care if you act like he did. The board of directors, particularly William and Catherine Yu, will not be as forgiving.”

“I didn’t get the impression William Yu much cared for Morgan either.”

“I would not repeat that if I were you. I do not know what you’ve seen of him from Morgan’s perspective, but remember this. That was his son. A human being of value to him. You are an unknown, and a risk he believes he doesn’t need to take.”

Six chews that over, watching the numbers above the door tick upwards. “So what’s your opinion on that? Am I a necessary risk?”

“My opinion is of very little importance. Did you memorize the sheets we gave you?”

“I did.”

“Good. Remember their names, say as little as possible, follow Alex’s instructions, and our cause might not be hurt. Are you ready?”

“I am,” Six replies, deciding to start taking January’s advice immediately and be cooperative instead of asking if they were allowed to speak.

The ride is simultaneously more stressful than before and a lot easier. It’s hard to be nervous around strangers with no say in your life when you’re about to meet some that essentially own everyone on the continent.

The elevator doors slide open to reveal their destination. It’s not like Alex’s floor, full of its individual offices. The room immediately outside of the elevator is just as elegant and brightly shining through. The color scheme is similar as well - the walls are a pleasant eggshell white, the carpet a rich crimson and gold. The walls are lined with plush seating and eerily identical potted plants.

They follow January as he makes his way to the secretary’s desk. She looks up and gives them an impossibly bright smile. “Hello. You two must be…” She trails off, double checking the screen. “January and Six, yes?”

“That is correct,” January answers.

“I’ll let the board know that you’re here, they should be ready for you soon.”

January doesn’t respond, just turns and heads towards the chairs lined up along the wall. Six tags along behind him. A glance back reveals that the secretary is looking at the two of them with poorly disguised curiosity and unease. They duck their head and try to take up as little space as possible on their seat without actually shrinking.

What feels like hours later, the secretary is telling them that the board is ready for them to enter. The hallway she indicates is long and entirely too spacious to be a hallway. The doors swing inward as they approach.

The inside is somehow more opulent than the outside. The space closest to the door is empty except for Alex, standing there with his hands behind his back. In front of him is a gigantic U-shaped table. Five people are seated in the nine seats, facing away from the light streaming in from the windows behind and to the left of them. In the very center, staring them down, is William Yu. To his right is Catherine Yu. She looks almost bored.

The others are arrayed haphazardly, enemies and friends ignored in favor of status based seating. The empty seat on the leftmost end is the only one they’d known would be empty - Six had been told to expect her to be absent. Livianna Emmerson. She’s the people’s ‘voice’ on the board, as well as the one who conveys the board’s decisions back to the people living in TranStar America’s safe zone. Unfortunately she’s also under William Yu’s control. He can have her entire family killed or thrown out with a few words, so it isn’t really her fault. According to the information Six was given she never shows up unless it’s mandatory.

The others must have decided that their attentions would be best put to use elsewhere. Or they were afraid. They’re not sure which they prefer.

Six’s attention is dragged back to Alex as he says, “Six, stand with me please.”

They follow directions. January comes to Alex’s other side, and the three of them stand together under the scrutiny of the board.

William Yu speaks first. “After reviewing the footage supplied by Alex, the board has decided that subject ABK-6 is to be considered the victor of the most recent round of Typhon weaponry tests. Congratulations, Alex.”

Alex’s voice is equally as insincere. “Thank you.”

“Under normal circumstances, we would now award your test subject with entry into TranStar’s guards. However, as we are all aware, ABK-6 is an unusual case. After review of your lab results we have reached a conclusion. The subject is appropriately collared, and as you have argued, it is substantially less useful if you are unable to access it when necessary. Therefore it is now in your personal employ. Any harm it does to personnel or property is your responsibility. We will speak on the relevant contract negotiations at a later date.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

“Now, if there are no more questions from the board, we can-”

“I have a question,” a woman interrupts. The speaker is a middle aged Korean woman who has forgone formal wear in favor of tactical gear. Her hair is long, her eyes sharp. Grace. No last name, and no explanation in her file. “Forgive me, William, but I must remind everyone that footage can be doctored. I would like to see for myself whether or not she can speak.”

“I assure you that they can,” Alex says.

“I would rather hear it from her. Your name is Six, right?” she asks.

Six is thrown off by being called ‘her’, and almost wants to correct her. They’re sure that’ll go over well. “Yes. I am known as Six.”

Grace raises her eyebrows, surprised or, more likely, faking it. “So you can speak.” She doesn’t appear to expect an answer, as she turns to her right a moment later. “Sarah, you’ve met with her before. What do you think? Has Alex been successful?”

“I have already told the rest of the board what I know. It is very convincing. Whether empathy quotients and simulations can tell us everything we want to know remains a mystery.” Sarah Elazar doesn’t seem inclined to elaborate.

Grace nods thoughtfully. “Well then, consider my curiosity satisfied for now.”

“In that case,” Sarah says, “All we have left to do is to finalize our decision on an appropriate first test for the experiment.”

Confused, Six nearly speaks, only stopping themself just in time. First test?

Sarah continues, unaware of their near interruption. “As we have previously agreed the test is to be something our allies and our people will see. Rumors of the experiment have already spread to the general army. I remind the board that if we wait much longer to reveal the experiment we will have a riot on our hands.”

The man directly to William’s left clears his throat, leaning forward. The representative of TranStar East hailing from Uganda and best known for his poker face and faith in William Yu, Dembe Masane. “And I reiterate my previous argument. Putting a potentially volatile experiment into the public eye would be a grave mistake.”

“And as I said, if we have Alex and I there every possible situation can be handled,” Sarah says dismissively.

“That is an unacceptable level of risk,” Dembe says. “You are our valued head of the internal guards and TranStar American Army. Alex’s importance should not even need to be stated.”

“I have seen the experiment fight. I have faith that my abilities will be more than enough to handle anything that it can throw at me.”

Ouch, their pride.

“Dembe, Sarah,” William Yu says, effectively returning the room’s attention to him. “We have had this debate already. Do I need to call another vote or can everyone agree to abide by our first decision?”

It’s really less a question and more a reminder, and the reluctant agreement he gets reflects that. William Yu nods once, then looks to his wife.

“Catherine. I believe you had a suggestion.”

She barely spares him a glance. “I do. We need a public test of the experiment where Sarah and Alex can be nearby to do damage control. We have to escort Tae-won Jung back to TranStar East’s border in a week. He will be accompanied by no less than three boats with squads of our soldiers, and adding Alex and Sarah to the group will be no difficulty. It seems rather obvious to me.”

“Tae-won Jung is far too valuable to risk in such a manner,” Sarah says immediately.

“Oh?” Catherine Yu asks. “I seem to recall you saying you could handle the experiment by yourself. Surely with three squads it will be far easier for you?”

Sarah seems tongue tied for just a moment, looking around the table for support. “Surely no one else believes that this is a good plan?”

Everyone glances at either their allies or the Yus, but no one says anything for a few long minutes. Six shifts uneasily under their searching gazes. They’re not sure if they like this idea or not but Alex hasn’t said anything so he must see some kind of potential in it.

William Yu clears his throat for attention. “I believe this is a probable solution to our problems. Alex trusted the experiment enough to allow it amongst our unaware employees. Sarah trusts in herself and her people. We have insurance and a test that provides the answers we need. If everyone is ready, I believe it is time to call a vote.”

No one objects. Six doesn’t think it’s because they agree.

“Very well. Those in favor?”

Dembe agrees with the testing almost the instant William Yu finishes speaking, Grace seconding his vote a moment later. Catherine, in a turn of events that surprised no one, agreed with her own proposal. William Yu casts his vote in favor of the test.

Catherine turns to look at the only member present who hasn’t spoken. She looks young, maybe in her late twenties. Despite her age she’s the representative for TranStar South. Renata Navarro, born and raised in Mexico City. She shakes her head slowly, almost looking regretful. “I would love to agree with the rest of you, but you already know I am against Alex Yu’s experimentation in the first place. My father and the TranStar South board agree with me on this matter. As their representative, even if my vote will not sway the final results, I must say that I disagree with this testing. If it were my choice we would eliminate this clear and present threat before it eliminates us.”

Six can read unease in the air as Catherine nods and turns back to her husband. “That is everyone present.”

“It is. Alex, you and your experiment will be ready on Tuesday of next week to board the ships headed to our border with TranStar East. In light of TranStar South’s objection we will add two more boats to the typical three, and send members of our elite guard with them.”

“Six and I will be there. Are there other matters to be discussed?” Alex asks.

“We have agreed that you broke no rules in your dealings with the experiment. However,” William Yu says, “The board noted that you also used years old agreements and loopholes when dealing with subject Six. Renegotiations of the relevant contracts will take place three weeks from now on the twenty fifth. We would also discuss with you the matter of your use of the training rooms every morning and afternoon. As you should be well aware….”

Six loses track of the conversation as they realize that it’s no longer related to them or anything they know about. They’re glad to be out of the spotlight, but as the conversation switches from the training rooms to some kind of machine in the research labs that is using up too much electricity, they begin to wonder why exactly they’re there. They hadn’t even really had much to do with the earlier conversation. It wasn’t like they’d needed to agree to anything - Alex had done that for them. Not that they’re angry. They trust him to make decisions. They just don't understand why they’re there at all.

Nothing in the following hour of the board members and Alex talking around each other gives them any clue to the answer. When the conversation finally draws to a close they’re glad to be leaving, hoping that they’ll be able to ask Alex what was going on in the elevator. Instead, as they go to follow Alex out of the room, a voice calls for him.

“Alex,” Catherine calls, walking up. “I need to talk to you.”

“Of course, mother. How have you been?” Alex asks.

Six trails behind the two of them, entirely forgotten. It’s a novel feeling. They’re usually alone and being remotely monitored, and the whole idea of the test rooms they’re in every day is to observe them. Being around people and ignored is nice, but it's going to take some getting used to.

They only remember that January is there when the four of them are standing in the elevator. He’s been silent the entire time. As the elevator ticks down the floors they wonder why he’s nearly mute whenever there are humans nearby. He hadn’t seemed to mind speaking in the simulation and nothing they’ve seen since makes them think this January is hugely altered from the original. He talks to them. He responds when spoken to. He just doesn’t speak up at any other time.

The mystery takes up their thoughts until the elevator doors ding open. They look up to find Alex and Catherine stepping off of the elevator, wrapped up in their conversation. The doors close again with no indication that either of them had remembered the other passengers.

“That went better than I thought it would,” they note, glancing at January.

“You didn’t have to do much speaking and you were smart enough to take my advice. So yes, it could have gone much worse,” January says.

Six decides to ignore the implications there before asking, “Hey, January, where was Alex going?”

“To the research labs.”

“Huh.”

They rock on their heels, watching the numbers tick down. “Hey, January?”

“You aren’t very good at enjoying peace and quiet.”

“Did everything go how Alex wanted it to?”

January actually sighs, a sound Six didn’t know him capable of making. “Yes. It did. Why do you ask?”

Six chews on their lip. “No reason. He just didn’t say anything to me, and I wasn’t sure what the hell I was supposed to be doing. I’m not even sure why I was there.”

“Alex has more important things to do than reassure you of your value. As for why you were there, your presence was requested, and one does not deny the board’s request. Are you satisfied?” he asks, irritation lacing his words.

“Sure. Thanks for the answers,” they say, ignoring his tone. They also studiously ignore the small but strong desire to tell him that they don’t need constant reassurance, they’re not a child. Somehow it feels like that might be proving his point.

The elevator trip is uneventful, as is the walk back to their room. As they enter the room still filled to bursting with anti-Six weaponry he stops and turns to leave.

“January,” they say on impulse. “You don’t like me, do you?”

“Not particularly. It isn’t in my programming.”

“You were programmed not to like me?”

“Of course not. The world does not revolve around Alex’s one successful experiment. I was not programmed to like anyone.”

Or to be likeable, apparently. “Huh.”

“If that is the last of your inane questions?”

“Not really, no. Those board members. The way they acted… Have they ever actually been face to face with any of the Typhon?”

Now January turns, somehow looking at them evaluatively without eyes. “The majority have not. Why do you ask?”

Six shrugs. “It was the way they ignored me once they had what they wanted from me. Everyone usually keeps an eye on me, but they were acting like I was just another human. Not that I minded.”

January just keeps looking at them like he’s trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. “So you’re saying all of them acted like this?”

“No, they say slowly, thinking back. “Sarah obviously didn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually sleeps with her eyes open. Other than that… That woman, Grace. She wasn’t hostile, it just felt like she was paying more attention to me than to whatever they were discussing.”

“I see.”

You sound a little too unsure of that, buddy. “So what’s up with Grace anyways? No last name, some giant company that began when the Typhon showed up?”

“You know the essentials already. As for her last name, she dropped it following her husband’s death. There are several theories as to why. We have verified none of them.”

“So what’s up with the business then?”

“Her husband ran a small elite bodyguard company. Their screening process was extensive and demanding, so their company was well trusted. After her husband’s death at the hands of the Typhon she took over the company and modified it for the needs of a changed world. Their main jobs now consist of escorting items and people across Typhon and gang controlled territory.”

“Seriously? That’s impressive.” And might’ve had something to do with her interest in Six.

“She’s brilliant and good with people. Valuable skills. You’d do best to stay on her good side, and to not cross her soldiers. She was one of the first to use the Typhon Neuromods to enhance her soldiers, and the first and largest corporation to offer squads for Nightmare elimination.”

“Noted,” Six says, curiosity growing. They’ve got to talk to that woman more. “Are Nightmares that big a problem?”

“Not often, no. They mainly appear when Coral signal nullifiers on bracelets break. It’s less frequent than it used to be, but it does happen.”

“That’s… concerning.”

“If it happens, I advise you get to a safe zone very quickly. If that is all, I have work to do,” January says, moving to turn back around.

“What do you do all day anyways?” Six quickly asks, suddenly curious. “I mean you were at a few of my tests, but not all of them. And you always seem to be available when Alex asks for you.”

“I have been programmed with all of Morgan’s updated memories. After he died I became a valuable tool in the research labs. Alex is able to call me at will because he is the head of the research department as well as the company CEO.”

“Oh. That actually makes a lot of sense,” Six says, privately wondering if they’d be capable of carrying on the research Morgan had begun. Probably not, considering how patchy their understanding is.

“Is that all you want, or may I leave?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Six says, ignoring his sarcasm and unable to think of anything else to talk about. “See you later January.”

January doesn’t reply, but they didn’t expect him to. Once he’s gone they walk into their room and sit back in their chair. The conversation had been stilted and awkward to maintain as usual. January certainly doesn’t do much to help that, but they can’t blame him entirely. They don’t like him and they still aren’t sure why. Talking to him just leaves them with the uneasy feeling that he knows something they don’t. They’re starting to get the creeping feeling that maybe they should be able to figure it out by now. Shrugging the thought off, they lean back forward and grab the Rubix Cube off their desk. The click of pieces sliding into place replaces the whirring of their thoughts as they settle down to wait for Tuesday.

 

It was Friday afternoon before their regular cycle of eat-test-boredom-sleep is broken again.

They listen for footsteps, crouched behind a partial wall. The guard passes by their hiding spot and continues on unawares. They grip the top of the decaying brickwork and leverage themself up and over the top. The guard is looking in the opposite direction, studying the rooftops around her instead of the space behind, possibly checking that her fellow guards are still standing. There are more of them up here than last time. Six is somewhat annoyed with themself - they should have known that after figuring out their strategy and ‘gunning them down’ on the roof nearest the goal last time, the guards would be certain to keep close tabs on what was going on above the streets. Most of the rooftops were manned by two or three guards each, more than they could take down silently without damaging them or themself. They’d chosen this rooftop for the single guard there, alone because of the tall chain link fence surrounding the leap out into open space. It was certainly less than ideal, but they could make it work.

They creep forward one step, two, then spring at the unsuspecting guard. One of their hands clamps down over her mouth as the other yanks the handgun out of her grip. They pull her down to the floor with them. As soon as she’s down Six lets her go, shimmying back without getting up. The guard not so graciously accepts her ‘death’, muttering curses as they shut their eyes, listening.

Nothing.

Six grins. The downed guard just gives them a flat glare as they rise to a crouch. Their human facade falls away, legs bending as they add extra joints, strengthening parts and thinning others. Typhon limbs pressing against the ground, gathering their strength to their legs, weight shifting to settle on their haunches, and the coiled spring of their body releases. They fly upwards, landing on the top of the fence, chains clattering underneath them. They catch a glimpse of people turning to look from the roofs nearby. Then they’re moving again, leaping from their perch and into the square across from the building.

They’re barely aware of the shouting coming from all around them as they land, their legs absorbing the impact where human ones couldn’t, tucking into a roll and coming up sprinting. There are bullets flying, hitting the pavement around them, ricocheting off. They don’t stop as they grab the glowing, six inch long cylinder that is their goal. They use the momentum to run a few yards up the side of the building, grabbing hold and pushing off, attaching themself to the wall opposite for only a split second before leaping again, feet sliding as they hit the street again. They dart between two closely packed buildings, picking up and tossing stones to cover the sounds of their retreat. When they emerge they stay close to the buildings, darting from one to the other for cover.

They reach the fifth block past where they’d obtained the goal and pick the tallest building they can find. They scale it, ignoring the bricks that dislodge and fall to the ground as they go. From their vantage point they can see a blue glow illuminating the buildings only a few blocks to the northeast. They can’t see any guards though, which is worrying. They decide to press their advantage instead of waiting.

They have to be careful now that they have the cylinder. If it breaks they fail, so this time they make their way back down their perch until they’re level with the building that is their first stepping stone before jumping off. They’re cautious, staying low and taking an indirect route. They catch only a few glimpses of light glinting off of metal. They can only see maybe three of the guards that are scattered across the rooftops around the goal. Six isn’t sure if there are more on the ground or not, but they do know that if they don’t hurry the guards who were stationed around the goal will arrive here and effectively ruin their chances of winning. For the sixth time in a row.

They did find out something interesting from all of those losses.

They really, _really_ hate losing.

Six transfers the cylinder to two Typhon limbs that effectively strap it to their torso. They take a breath they don’t need, plant their feet, and leap. Their feet fly across the rooftops, wasting little effort on upward drive as they cross between them. Six aims for the window of a building surrounding the drop off and soars through feet first. They run through the surprisingly well outfitted office building until they reach the opposite side. They snatch up a stapler and chuck it through the window. They fly out with the shattered glass, sticking the landing this time. They lose momentum for it but the cylinder is unbroken. They tear it off of their chest and onto the designated panel. The mechanism dings loudly, flares shooting into the air to signify that the test was finished.

Six stands there for just a second before they punch the air in victory. “Hell yeah!” they shout, victory thrilling through their body.

A moment later pain lances through their leg. The echoing bang of the gunshot registers in their ears only a moment later. For just a second confusion takes over as they look down at their now bleeding leg. Their brain catches up a moment later and they’re about to run for cover when they hear a very angry voice screaming at someone from the roof of one of the surrounding buildings. Six finds that they’re more annoyed than genuinely angry. It didn’t really hurt that much, but it did put a bit of a damper on their victory.

“Subject Six, are you badly injured?” Quinten’s voice comes over the loudspeakers and pours over the artificial city like the word of a god.

“Nah,” they say, not bothering to shout when the collar will catch their voice and transmit it to the waiting researchers. “It hit my leg but I’m fine. Do I still get to call this a victory?”

They’re only half joking.

“The test had been completed at the time of the shooting, so yes. You have successfully passed this simulation for the first time. Very good work.”

The compliment is without feeling but nevertheless appreciated. “Thanks. So what now?”

The voice that responds is disinterested, with a subtle Korean accent, and unfamiliar to them. “I believe I have seen enough.”

“As a representative of TranStar East, I thought it only best if-”

Alex’s voice cuts off mid-sentence as the speakers are turned off. They frown, or try to before they remember that they don’t have a face. Their form melts and rearranges itself until they look like their usual self. When the speakers don’t come back on they shrug and settle in to wait.

They’re seated on a steel beam poking out through a high pile of rubble, legs swinging back and forth, when the guards who had been by the goal walk into view. None of them look particularly happy but there isn’t a lot of open hostility either so they’ll count that as a victory too. Six waves at the group, hoping that if they see them early on the guards will just avoid them instead of being confrontational.

They aren’t surprised when nobody waves at them in return. The group comes to a stop about thirty feet away, talking quietly amongst themselves. Six returns to swinging their legs and chipping off bits of the mortar clinging to the beam to throw down onto the pile of rubble below them.

They’ve wasted maybe ten more minutes that way when the speakers come back on. Quinten sounds like he had when William Yu observed the tests. Stiff formality hiding genuine fear. Six immediately decides that it probably doesn’t mean anything good here either.

“Experiment Six, please come to the testing chamber. The representative from TranStar East would like to speak with you.”

Six hops down from their seat and follows orders. Behind them the guards who had fallen silent to listen to the announcement begin murmuring again, quieter this time. Almost like they’re worried someone else might hear.

They reach the testing chamber a few minutes later. The elevator opens a few minutes later and two men step out. The man standing next to Alex is unfamiliar to them. He’s Korean, maybe an inch or so shorter than Alex and a few years older. He’s dressed in a stiff suit, hair immaculate, expression haughty. He also looks distinctly displeased to be looking at them.

“Tae-won, this is Six,” Alex says, gesturing towards them. His eyes are trying to convey a message they’re too dumb to interpret. “Six, this is the designated representative of TranStar East, a member of their board of directors and head of security for the main building and surrounding safe zone, Tae-won Jung. I mentioned him to you before. He has arrived here ahead of schedule and the board thought it best if his review of the facility occurred early as well.”

Six watches Tae-won warily. He gives off the air of someone used to people literally doing anything he says, and his expression says he’d like to be ordering them to jump off a bridge right about now. They feel like maybe he’s expecting them to bow, or curtsy, or kneel at his feet and beg forgiveness for whatever they’d done.

Instead they step forward to stand in front of him and incline their head politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Tae-won’s voice is saturated with disgust as he says, “Yes, your… successful experiment. I see it does, in fact, speak on command.”

“Six is as intelligent as any human, Tae-won. So yes, they can speak.” The irritation on Alex’s face is absent in his tone, if not in the subtle emphasis he places on their preferred pronouns.

Tae-won makes a dismissive sound. “Yes, more intelligent than your famed guards, evidently. That a simple Typhon could defeat so many is concerning for you and for our shared interests. TranStar America would do well to take on TranStar East’s hiring methods before your lax testing causes catastrophe.”

“We have found that TranStar East’s hiring method allows those whose only motivation is monetary into the heart of our operations. In our experience this results in employees who value their lives over the lives of the rest of humanity. Which is, of course, in conflict with TranStar’s core values.”

“That is very interesting, Alex. We at TranStar East have been more inclined to believe that our employees are highly loyal to those who really matter when we use our prefered hiring methods. Those who rely entirely on feeling and emotion are so unpredictable, after all. Did not this division have an incident a few years ago where a man climbed your ranks for the sole purpose of killing a man he blamed for his sister’s death?”

“That occurred at TranStar South. I believe his plans were discovered rather early on, before he could carry them out.”

“Regardless,” Tae-won says, waving a dismissive hand. “Those who cling that tightly to the dead are of no use to TranStar East. Nor, really, to the continued survival of humanity. Would you not agree?”

“I see that we will have to agree to disagree. Excuse us, Six. Tae-won has requested to see the rest of the research facility.”

Six barely remembers to nod, staring after the pair long after they’ve disappeared from sight. The look on Alex’s face after Tae-won’s last words follows them for the rest of the day, chilling them to the core. They hadn’t known him capable of looking that angry.

 

The Sunday before their departure, Alex summons them up to his office again. They’re guided by an Operator they haven’t met up through the floors and the hallways of the executive offices. It disappears down the hall as they knock on Alex’s door and the speaker beside the door tells them to enter.

Alex is sitting at his desk. He glances up as Six enters, expression not quite angry but definitely getting close. He looks relieved when he sees that it’s them. He waves them towards him as he puts down the papers in his hand, leaning back in his chair.

“Apologies, Six. I was anticipating a visit from someone else. How are you today?”

“Fine,” they say, taking a seat on the chairs in front of the desk. “You look busy.”

“It’s a part of the job.” Alex looks out of the wall of windows, thoughtful. “What did you think of Tae-won?”

“I’d like him better if he didn’t look like he’s stepped in shit every time I’m in a room. But that’s not really that unusual I guess.”

“If it’s any comfort he isn’t very fond of me either. His spouse died in one of the Apex attacks. I think he’d much rather wipe out all Typhon than try to figure out if we can talk our way to peace. Would you say that you are able to protect his life despite this?”

“Yeah. He’s important to TranStar. I don’t think I’d let anybody die if I could help it though so maybe he’s not special.”

Alex chuckles. “Fortunately that’s what’s important, not how well you two get along. I called you up here for two reasons. One, I want to give you the details for Tuesday. Two, I thought you’d be bored by yourself all day. Mikhaila has been saying that she worries you’re lonely down there by yourself since she’s been too busy to visit. I don’t have much by way of entertainment up here, but it’s better than being down there I think. You can stay after we speak if you would like.”

“Okay?” Six says. That’s weird. They think.

“First you need to know that there is a very strict rule that we are not to have two administrator level TranStar personnel on a single vehicle unless it is absolutely necessary. As such, Tae-won, Sarah, and I will all be on separate boats. Catherine’s decision to make the test centered around Tae-won’s safe arrival means that I must place you with him. If anything happens you’re unlikely to have to do anything - he pays handsomely for his bodyguards and they’re very good at their jobs. Only intervene if there’s no other choice. Can you do that?”

Six nods. “I can. Is this why I’ve been practicing with the guards for the last week?”

“It is.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

Alex taps his desk thoughtfully. “We’re leaving at ten thirty on Tuesday morning. You’re already aware that it would be best to stay out of the way of the other guards, army members, and boat crews. You know to follow any orders given to you over the collar speakers. You won’t need to know the route. There isn’t much else to tell you.”

“Okay. I can remember that.”

“Good.” He nods towards a puzzle made of wooden blocks of different shapes that’s sitting beside them on a table. “As I said, you are more than welcome to stay up here. If you wish to leave tell me and I will get an Operator to be your guide.”

Six stands up and grabs the offered block puzzle, settling down on the couch in front of the windows. They hear papers rustling behind them as Alex returns to his work. The puzzle clicks quietly as they push and pull various parts. Personally they think that Alex’s behavior is a much more interesting puzzle than it is. They don’t need to be up here. The things he had to say could just as easily be conveyed via letter or any of the many Operators that they see moving down the hallways any time they’re walking around. The puzzle rests on their palm, held loosely as they look out at the broken city. They don’t think that they understand people very well. They’re not afraid to admit that - they’ve barely been around anyone since they were ‘born’. Morgan’s transferred talent at reading faces let them know what humans were feeling but it doesn’t make it any easier to understand how they thought. Or how they were intended to react.

That leaves Alex’s motivations about as clear as the Coral infested sky above their head. January’s voice echoes from their memories, saying how much like Morgan they could be. Tae-won’s words reminding Alex of the follies of clinging too tightly to the dead respond. They tell both of them to fuck off. Alex would never try to replace his brother. Much less with a half Typhon, half human freak.

They get tired of trying to make out what the tiny ant-like people below are doing after a while and return to their puzzle. They’re glad humans invented so many ways to pass the time. They haven’t touched the picture puzzle in their room in quite a while. The picture is taking shape, moving in from the outer edges, but it’s somewhat monotonous and they’re not entirely sure that they aren’t missing pieces. They’ve been supplied with other things - an old handheld video game console with a few basic games including something about attorneys that they have yet to touch, a Rubix cube they haven’t been able to solve but enjoy fiddling with, a few fiction books they’re actually rather enjoying and yet more picture puzzles. They’re somewhat partial to the books. They’d probably be further along in them if they didn’t feel somewhat guilty every time they settled down for the sole purpose of wasting time. It always felt like they could be doing something more important even if they aren’t sure what that is.

They realize that they’ve spaced out when the almost completed puzzle falls from their limp fingers and onto the floor. Alex is still engrossed in his work, but they need a distraction and if they were going to be there anyways they might as well learn something. “Alex?”

“Yes, Six?” Alex asks, not looking up from his papers.

“Are you sure this test is a good idea? I mean, Tae-won won’t want me anywhere near him.”

“I don’t particularly care what his opinion is. And as for your other question, I am sure. Do you not trust my judgement?”

“No, no,” Six says quickly. “I just… I think I’m worried. Being around so many people - it’s uncomfortable.”

Alex finally looks up from his work, tapping his pen on his desk. “You’re afraid of humans?”

“No. Sorta? More afraid of their reaction. I can tell no one likes me, but that doesn’t matter that much. They’re just really, really quick to go for weapons when I’m around. So what do I do if they do attack me? Fight back?” Six laughs without humor. “They’ll get hurt, and I’ll get sent to that off site research center. Assuming they don’t just execute me then and there.”

“Six. Has anyone tried to do something like that? Outside of the incident at training on Friday.”

Six scoffs. “You know they haven’t. There are cameras everywhere here. Nobody’s gonna attack Alux Yu’s experiment.”

“Ignoring the fact that you are not just my experiment, why do you believe it would be any different on the ship? There will be plenty of cameras there as well.”

“Wait, there are cameras on the ship?”

“There are cameras everywhere, Six. There are very, very few things that TranStar’s board of directors don’t know about.”

Alex hadn’t said that like it was a good thing. “You said the board. Does that include the CEO?”

Alex grins wryly, seeing through their probe for information. “Sometimes I wonder if you aren’t too smart for your own good. You’re correct - I am not a member of the board and as such they rarely see fit to inform me of everything they know. I wasn’t even aware that Owen Muller’s island had been overtaken until the man came to me complaining about his dog, and that directly affects our route on Tuesday.”

“Owen Muller?”

“One of many of the affluent members of society who decided to create their own safe zones in the years following the initial Typhon invasion. Some, like him, left the TranStar safe zones after disagreements with the rules set down by the company. It may have been the dog that finally got him to leave, now that I think about it. TranStar’s rules forbid animals that aren’t of use.”

“Aren’t dogs useful? I’d think they could do some damage to a Phantom since they’re nearly dead if you tear off one of their arms. Or they could sniff out Mimics.”

“Only if they are trained to do so, and large enough to do damage. No, this was some small fluffy thing that wasn’t good for much other than being a pet. Which I reminded him of, since so many of his personal bodyguards died and a dog’s survival in such a situation seems unlikely. Now I have to figure out how to politely tell him that no, we will not be ‘stopping by’ his island to find some painting of the damn thing for him even if he has put in an official request.” Alex shoots a particularly disgruntled look at the papers on his desk.

“If he wants us to stop by, does that mean we’ll be close to his island?”

“Yes. Within a few miles. We would have been closer, but considering the Typhon presence I think it best to stay a reasonable distance away.”

“Do Typhon not live in water? It didn’t bother me.”

“It doesn’t seem to harm them, but no, they’re only rarely found in the water.”

Six has more questions pressing against their lips, but they just nod and go back to looking out of the window. They can hear Alex resuming his work as they trace a spire of Coral with their eyes. The strands chase each other in a graceful dance up into the sky where they fade from sight. Most of the Coral fades into a subtly glowing golden mesh over the rest of the city, obscuring their sight, buildings and plant growth peeping through. It’s strange, but after speaking to Alex they think they’re beginning to understand why he says that the Coral is beautiful. It’s a nice color, all gold made of gentle curves and spirals.

They’ve got a few flashes of memory from Morgan about the stuff. It’s all from before the Typhon containment breach, so he mostly just thought it was mesmerizing but mysterious. They tried to see how that changed after the Coral started weaving its web over the planet but found nothing. Maybe it hadn’t been the focus of Morgan’s research.

“You know, Morgan liked the view from here too. Said it was better than the one from his office. Mostly I think he wanted to steal my sodas, but I admit it is rather nice,” Alex says, almost like he can read their mind and knew who they were thinking about.

A million questions come to mind. Asking about what Morgan was like, what research he was doing, if Alex knows just how many of Morgan’s memories and feelings are swirling around their head. Six settles for, “It’s a nice view.”

Eventually Alex has to leave and Six follows him into the elevator and down below the earth. He leaves the elevator a few floors above Six’s. They walk back to their room alone. After a few attempts at the puzzle that leave them frustrated and bored, they head to sleep early only to stare up at the ceiling for hours before finally drifting off.

 

  
The day of their first outing and last test arrives too soon. They’re up and pacing hours ahead of time. The boats have to be loaded at the last minute so the departure is late in the morning. They trail behind Alex as he approaches Tae-won and his bodyguards, greeting them warmly. Tae-won is substantially less warm, his welcome curt. His guards are eyeing Six with their hands hovering over their weapons the entire way to the boats. It’s about as uncomfortable as they’d predicted.

The boats are impressive; all five are large enough to hold two lower decks and a watch tower, decked out in brilliant white and steel. There are a twin pair of flags flying above each watch tower. One for TranStar America and the other for TranStar East.

The group meets with Sarah and the guards she is commanding. Last minute items are being packed into the boats, weaponry and supplies that everyone is hoping they won’t need. Here everyone splits apart. Part of the guards break off to join Alex as Tae-won and his guards are supplemented by a group of TranStar America’s and Six. The rest remain with Sarah or run around completing other orders. Six focuses on being small and unobtrusive in the hopes that Tae-won will forget that they’re there. He seems content enough to ignore them, disappearing below decks with his guards almost immediately after they set foot on the boats.

Without any real idea of what they’re intended to do Six decides to focus on staying out of the way. They find a spot that’s out of the way to lean up against the guardrail and look out over the ocean. There’s salt heavy in the air, sun shimmering on the water and reflecting on the sides of the boats. Somewhere in the distance they can hear seagulls calling, hoarse voices carrying. They can see the birds in the distance, black tipped wings cutting through the golden strands of Coral cluttering the sky. It’s their first experience with the ocean - and being outside, now that they think about it - but it all feels familiar. Another inheritance from Morgan.

Not long after, the boats begin to move on some unheard signal. The immense walls that keep the Typhon from invading through the water drop away as they approach. Looking back, they can see them rising to create an impenetrable whole once again.

TranStar, the safe zone, and the surrounding city all fade quickly into a dull grey and gold haze. They’re surprised to find that the web of Coral is less densely packed over the sea, making a note to ask Alex about that later. For now they watch the wake of the boat and study the water. They’re hoping to see dolphins, but the animals must know better than to try to keep pace with the significantly swifter ships.

Six would be content to just watch the waves, enjoying the warm caress of the sunlight on their skin and the rocking of the boat, but they soon find it difficult to tune out the rest of the world. The boat crew is less subtle about their dislike than the guards. Several of them run into Six or hit them with whatever they’re carrying despite Six’s best efforts to find a lesser trafficked part of the deck. Others carry on loud conversations about what they’d like to do to any Typhon foolish enough to get onto the boats. One particularly graphic description of how boat engines could tear through Phantoms leaves Six feeling ill. The crew members, of course, have never and will never successfully fight off a Phantom, much less the Nightmares they’re bragging they could destroy. Six knows it and they’re pretty sure that under the swaggering and boasting the boat crew are aware of this too. It does serve its real purpose, however - Six slinks down below decks rather quickly after that. They would rather face cold shoulders and chilly receptions than listen to those idiots.

Below decks they find that most of the guards are sitting, weapons nearby but not at the ready. They catch the tail ends of conversations as they walk past. The guards are mercifully willing to ignore them entirely after glaring at them as they walk past, and Six finds a little used hallway to settle down in before long. The guards who do walk by continue to ignore them so it’s relatively peaceful.

They close their eyes, fingers lazily tracing the subtle warping of the flooring as their mind wanders. Half of their focus remains on their surroundings, ears alert for approaching footsteps, but everyone gives them a wide berth. They let their thoughts drift to wondering what they can do to help Alex achieve his goals of bridging the gap between humanity and the Typhon, and to what the TranStar American board of directors will want them to do after this. As such, it isn’t until hours later when their thoughts are abruptly interrupted that they really take note of the sudden exodus of those below decks to the outside of the ship.

“Six!”

They start, turning their head to look for Alex, who of course isn’t there. “A warning would’ve been nice. I almost jumped-”

“Not now Six, we have a problem. One of the bracelets on your boat has been deactivated. Be ready for a Nightmare, it’s only a matter of time.”

That would explain the shouting above decks. “So what do I do? I don’t know if I can fight a Nightmare underwater.”

“Don’t try. We need you to survive this. Your only job is to keep as many people alive as you can without risking yourself. Keep an eye on the ambassador but let his men-” High pitched rapid voices come over the transceiver, interrupting Alex. “-One moment! Six, do you know what to do?”

Not in the slightest. “Yes. Protect the humans on the boat.”

“Good. I’ll be listening, shout for me and I’ll hear you.”

“Got it,” they say, leaving the hallway they were skulking in and mingling with the crowd rushing upstairs. The upper deck is a mess of people all trying to do one thing or another, orders being shouted and ignored, guns out and ready alongside fingertips crackling with electricity and kinetic energy. The boats are still skimming along the water at top speed. The ocean looks as calm and peaceful as ever.

Realizing they can’t see the ambassador in the crowd, they hurry back downstairs. There they find Tae-won’s quarters firmly sealed and guarded by no less than six of his personal staff, all of whom aim their weapons at Six the instant that they recognize them.

Six raises their hands and backs up. “Woah, I’m on your side, remember?”

“No Typhon is an ally of ours,” one declares. Her friends’ responses are in a language Six doesn’t know, but they definitely aren’t lowering their weapons so Six assumes they agree with her.

“But Alex is, and he sent me here,” they say.

“Alex Yu is not our commander. Leave or we start shooting.”

Six throws their hands up and turns to leave. “You people are impossible.”

Back up on the deck they mostly feel like they’re in the way. Everyone but them seems to be moving with a purpose. They’re trying to find someplace to stand when their boat suddenly shudders and keels to the side. Several of the people on deck slide down and fall over the railing. Many of those abruptly start screaming as black tentacles and white lights appear all around them. Others grab ahold of anything secured to the deck. A few immediately begin rescue efforts, pulling their comrades out of the water.

Six copies them and darts forward. They wrap a Typhon limb around the nearest person in the water, yanking him out and searching for others. They grab five more and turn, only to falter as uncertainty stalls their rescue. The humans they’d grabbed are struggling, shouting. The others are screaming, shooting, noise and light confusing them further. Their eyes catch a soldier fighting against gravity as he tries to release one of the lifeboats. They dodge around the obstacles on the boat to reach the opposite side, slicing through one of the ropes as he unties the other. The boat drops into the water and they deposit the humans still in their grasp onto it. By the time this is done, other lifeboats are falling to join the first and people are leaping off of the raised side of the boat to swim to them. The Typhon seem to be leaving them alone, so Six ignores them in favor of going back to the other side of the boat. They only save two people this time. They’re reaching for a third when the boat underneath them shudders under the weight of another attack. By the time they’re sure they’ve regained their footing the woman has disappeared under the water and not come back up.

Realizing that there’s no one left in the water who can be saved, Six turns back and leaps over the other side. Their brief dip underwater reveals that the Phantoms are still busy with their prey. One of the lifeboats is waiting for them, and Six deposits the humans they were holding onto into it before lifting themself up and over. They shake the water out of their hair and look around, taking a mental count of the guards on the boats. They’re missing a large chunk of people, including-

“Wait,” Six says, almost to themself as they frantically check the other life rafts. “Wait! The ambassador!”

“We can’t turn back or we’re all dead!” the man steering shouts back. No one on the boat will meet Six’s eyes as they look around for support.

Six curses, standing. They’re tensed to leap off when a hand grabs their elbow, pulling them back. They look over to find one of the younger TranStar guards. They barely register that he looks familiar before he starts speaking.

“What the hell are you thinking?” he demands. “If you get off of this boat you die!”

“Why does it matter? I’m not human.”

He blinks, mouth opening and closing as he tries to formulate an answer. His grip loosens and Six pulls their arm back. Ignoring his shout, they dive into the water. The water is murky, darkness on all sides but above. Their humanoid form twists, feet flattening into flippers and hands spreading as webbing fills in the gaps in between. They speed through the water, dodging dark shapes and the white balls of light that they shoot. Luckily, the Typhon are too dumb to change their shape and the kinetic blasts move much slower underwater. Their eyes find the boat, their fingers sinking into the steel sides as they heave themself up. They slip and fall on the tilted deck, barely grabbing onto the railings with one hand as they reshape their feet. The deck is free of the Typhon swarming in the water. To their dismay the stairs leading under the deck have been destroyed, water lapping its way up the former stairway. They dive in. The lights are still on, sending shadows and shapes leaping up the walls. Six is almost to the captain’s quarters when they see blood in the water. Pieces of what they think were once a few humans are scattered in the water. Their floating is deceptively peaceful.

Six is hesitating, not sure that they want to get caught in the middle of the mess when they’re struck from behind. The momentum of the attack sends them straight into the middle of the cloudy water. They try to spin around and find themself twisting uselessly. A Phantom’s limbs claw at their arm. Six grabs what they can and pulls it close, feeling its attacks tearing their skin. They sink their hands in and pull. For just a moment, nothing gives as they strain. The next second they feel tearing, black blood joining the red. They cling to the body and tear it again. They keep clawing, splitting it apart until they’re left with pieces that float and mingle with the torn flesh of the guards. Six catches a glimpse of something moving towards them and gets ready for a fight before they realize it’s moving too slowly to be an attacker. With a sick feeling in their gut they realize the shape is human. They’d been fooled because it’s missing half its limbs and most of its head.

Six looks away. They try to get their bearings, feeling the wall behind them for familiar landmarks. They have no idea where the exit is, no idea where they are. They’ve just touched something they believe to be a door handle when something rams into them from behind.

They twist in ways no human can and drive sharp limbs into the Phantom. Its blood joins the rest of the fluids staining the darkening water, limbs still writhing as they tear them off. With one last rip it’s dead, body in pieces like the humans around it. They’re just about to turn back to their search when bright brown eyes meet theirs. They belong to a woman with long brown hair. Or they did. Her head is no longer connected to her body, the blood that had sustained her instead dyeing the ocean around them.

“Six!? Six, what the hell are you doing?” Alex’s voice screams in their ear. The head just keeps staring at them, floating there, eyes blank and unseeing.

“Six! Six _God damn it answer me!”_

Alex. Alex wants something. Their body tries to remember how to move and breathes in on instinct. Bloodied water flows in instead. It’s like they’ve tried to drink salt tinged with copper, too thick and frigid to be water. The next instant the taste is gone as their body absorbs the nutrients. Six is frozen in horror, staring into a dead woman’s eyes as their body uses her blood to keep them moving. The thought makes them wish they could throw up.

Alex is muttering curses in their ear, sounding increasingly desperate. “Six, please, you have to say something. Make a sound, give me something to work with here.”

They can’t stop here. There’s too much to do. They shove their thoughts away, ignoring the intense feeling of wrong in favor of banging a fist on the wall.

“Six! If you can hear me, do that again!”

Six obliges.

“Thank- Where are you?! Lucien says you jumped off the boat!”

Unable to do much else, they just knock again.

Alex curses. “It doesn’t matter. We’re coming back by. Get up on the deck, now. You only have one chance.”

Six knocks again and then feels for the door handle once more. There’s only one door this close to the upper decks, and if it’s closed they might still have a chance. When their hand finds it again it’s shut tight, sealed perfectly so that even the air can’t get out. The little pocket that it creates must be the only reason that the ship isn’t further under despite its bottom being torn out. Six’s claws cut into the steel, tearing it to shreds. They’re bashed up against the door as the first holes appear, spikes of metal digging into their torso as water rushes past them and fills the room beyond. They try not to think too hard about the things hitting their back. They can hear panicked shouting through the water. As soon as the suction has lightened up enough for them to pull away they finish dismantling the door. Inside they find the ambassador with three of his guards, one of whom is bleeding heavily and unconscious. The people inside just stare at them as they swim inside. Six waves and points to themself, then to them, and then up. The confused looks they receive aren’t reassuring. This time Six moves a Typhon limb forward, pointing to it before pointing at each of the humans individually, then at themself, then upwards. The guards get it this time, steely expressions telling Six exactly what they think of the plan.

The ambassador pushes his guards aside, then points at Six. Six nods uncertainly. The ambassador points to the ceiling. Six nods again. He nods and makes an impatient gesture as if asking what they’re waiting for.

I don’t know man. Maybe for fewer guns to be pointed at me?

They gesture towards the guards. The ambassador makes the same impatient movement and Six shrugs, giving up the fight. Their Typhon limbs shoot forward and wrap around the human’s waists, tugging them along as Six digs their claws into the flooring to push themself out of the room and back through the flooded hallway. The water is clearer now as Six moves through the hall. They leapfrog the gap in the boat’s hallway, catching sight of black shapes moving through the water below them. The boat’s deck is already underwater by a few inches. As the humans in their grasp gasp and cough for air Six hears a boat’s engine roaring on the water. The keel cuts its way into their view a moment later. It’s a few yards from the sinking boat, people standing on the deck and shouting. Six is already running. They launch themself off of the deck and over the head of an emerging Phantom. One hand catches the railing of the boat as their body slams into the side. Flecks of water pepper their legs and torso as the ship they’re clinging to races away from the sinking boat. The Phantom they’d just avoided slips back into the water in pursuit, more of them breaking away from the bloodbath around the submerged ship to give chase.

Six stops watching to lift the humans in their grasp up above their head and onto the deck of the ship. They drop them none too gently as they bring their other hand up to the railing and heave themself over the edge. They flop onto the deck, dripping salt water. The ambassador Tae-won and his guards are creating a fuss as they stand up, shouting and demanding answers. The one who was unconscious before is still, not breathing. One of the TranStar America guards rushes up and presses an ear to his chest before he begins trying to resuscitate him.

“Six,” Sarah calls, catching their attention. They shove themself to their feet as she hurries towards them.

“I, uh, saved the ambassador?” Six almost asks, not sure if they’re in trouble.

“You did. Good work. Bad news is that something caught one of our engines on the way to go get you. We’re down to half power. We can’t get away from the Phantoms without a distraction,” Sarah says. “That shout thing you do should do it.

Six looks back at the wake of the ship. Bullets are flying at the dark shapes in the water but seem to be doing nothing. They’re catching up. Fast. “What do you want me to do?”

“Get to the island and call them to you. As far as we can tell it distracts them even if they’re after a human target. You’ll have to avoid the minefield. It shouldn’t be hard once you’re in the water.”

“Is that island as close as I think it is?” Six asks.

“It’s maybe a mile away from us. Can you do it?”

“Yeah. Alex?” they ask, hoping he was listening in.

“I heard. Do what she says. At our max speed now we’ll reach the drop off in about fifteen minutes. We’ll be back within fifty minutes. Can you hold out for that long?”

“No idea. You have a better plan?”

“No. I’ll tell the captain of my ship about Sarah’s plan. Watch yourself.”

“Aye aye captain.”

“Get going, we’re going to need all the time you can gain us,” Sarah says. “And be careful.”

Six doesn’t know how to respond, so they don’t. Instead they climb up onto the railing and leap away from the boat, into the water. Their hands and feet stretch into the near fins they’d used before as they cut through the water. Morgan’s memories of a childhood shark movie push at their thoughts, but it’s not hard to shove them away when they have imminent death to focus on. The mines are easy enough to avoid when they can see them coming, and a few minutes after they left the ship they’re stumbling onto land, hands and feet shrinking as they walk.

Six turns away from the island and cups their hands around their mouth, sucking in as much air as they can hold before the unearthly, high pitched challenge of the Typhon leaves their mouth and travels over the water. They have just enough time to start worrying that the Typhon hadn’t been able to hear when they hear responding screeches from two directions at once. They’re relieved that the ones in the ocean had heard, but the ones coming from behind them are a shock. Then, a deeper, blood curdlingly terrifying roar fills the air around them. It sounds like its coming from all directions at once but must be from deeper into the island

Nightmare.

Six looks up at the sky. “You know, it’d be nice if things went right every once in a while.” They shake their head, sucking in air and calling out their challenge once more. As they start towards the wall, they mutter, “Wonder if that counts as talking to myself.”

“Six, you can hear me?”

Six yelps, startled. For a half second, they’re tempted to say no, but instead they nod pointlessly as they say, “Loud and clear Alex.”

“Good. We heard your call. As far as we can tell, so did the Typhon. They’ve all left the chase to go after you. Do you have a plan?”

“Not yet. I need to get away from here, then I’ll take a look around and see what I can do. I’ll let you know when I’ve got something.”

“I’ll be listening.”

When he doesn’t continue Six starts moving again, silently telling themself off for pausing in the first place. The wall is taller than expected, reaching up thirty feet, the guard towers an additional ten feet where they rise up from the rest of the reinforced cement. Luckily, they’re pretty good at climbing. When they reach the top of the closest tower they stop and just observe. From there they can see the walled area is larger than expected, only just shy of a mile long and more than a half mile wide at its narrowest point. Three mansions are positioned in the center, the rest of the ‘city’ consisting of more scattered houses than they care to count. No wonder this guy was so confident he could pay somebody to come here to get him a picture of his dog. He’s obscenely rich.

Movement flickering among the houses catches Six’s eye. The Nightmare is just as large as Six remembers, even if it pales in comparison to the Apex. It’s a ways off but quickly closing the distance. They can also see regular Phantoms coming out of the spaces in between the buildings closest to the wall. The beach is still clear, but it’s only a matter of time. They leap off of the tower and begin racing along the wall away from their enemies.

Six, in an unsurprising turn of events, does not in fact have a plan. The entire plan had been to take a dip in the ocean and then stand on a beach and scream. Not a terrible beginning to a plan, but definitely not a complete one. Especially considering that it hadn’t even been their plan.

They try to slot together what they know into something resembling a working plan as they run. The first step, getting away from the Typhon, was working. But then what? They’d technically done what they were supposed to already - the Typhon had definitely gone after them instead of focusing on the boats. If they lay low, they can probably just ride out the last few minutes in one of the guard towers, then… swim to the boats? That would work, but would probably also get them shot. How could they let the guards know they weren’t a threat? And ignoring that, how long would the Typhon be distracted from their real target by Six’s challenge?

The answer to some their questions and Alex’s in particular reveals itself as they reach their destination, a guard tower about one fourth of the way around the perimeter of the wall from where they’d begun. Not far from there is an inlet leading from the ocean into the city. Docked along the shores are boats of every variety. And since Typhon can’t steer boats, there’s no way that the guards will shoot at them.

The door to the guard tower is hanging in pieces from its hinges. Six leaps inside ready for a fight, but finds only a single Mimic disguised as a chair. They dispatch it by throwing it out through the broken window of the tower. The technology inside is still operational, a radio on the floor transmitting static, another device letting out intermittent beeps. It appears to be radar tracking the ocean around the island. The scattered green and red dots must mean something, but Six doesn’t know what. They watch as a group of three red dots speed closer to another stationary cluster of three. They’re not sure, but if they had to guess they’d say that they are the boats Alex is on.

“Alex, are you there?”

Not a second after they finish speaking he replies, “I am. What do you have?”

“Boats. It looks like people just left them. As long as one of them works I can steer it out of this bay and meet up with you guys.”

“We’ve only just met up with TranStar East’s ships. It’s going to take a few minutes to get everyone off of the boats. We should be back in about thirty minutes, but if we get close to those islands the Typhon will be after us again. We have to assume at least a few stayed in the water to call the rest of them after us. Six, we need you to distract them, thin their numbers, something, just make sure we can get out of here. You can do that?”

Six surveys the homes below them, the beginnings of a plan forming. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

“Good. Keep me posted. I’ll tell you when we’re five minutes out.”

“Got it.”

They exit the guard house through the same door they’d entered and quickly climb down the wall into the city. It looks a lot less peaceful from down there. The cobblestone streets are stained with dried blood and littered with body parts. The smell is disgusting, but not quite as bad as they’d been expecting for two week old corpses. Six pauses by one long enough to get a good look. It’s mercifully headless and as they’d suspected barely beginning to rot. With the sun and the heat it would be well on its way to full decomposition after two weeks. So the corpses in this area were recent. People had survived here for two weeks and then died at the last moment.

Six shudders and keeps going. As they round a corner and catch sight of the river through gaps in the houses, they hear a crash, something very heavy struck by something very strong. They look to the sound. High above them, dark shadow reaching over the homes below it, the Nightmare is tearing apart the guard tower they’d just been in.

They have no idea what’s going on. Nightmares don’t just destroy things for no reason, but there’s no one in that building.

Sharp limbs pierce their shoulders, an unseen Mimic grabbing hold as it tries to tear them to pieces. Six grabs it and throws it away, killing it with a kinetic blast. They look back up at the wall like they think the Nightmare will have seen the short, distant fight. It’s gone.

The sound of heavy, crashing footsteps and the weird burbling cry of the Nightmare are coming closer. Six curses and turns, running up the street. They can hear the Nightmare gaining on them but it won’t catch them before they reach their goal.

They burst out from between two houses and into the elaborate, once beautiful gardens surrounding the central houses. The area is littered with easily three times the bodies they’ve seen throughout the rest of the city. Most of the plants are scorched or torn to pieces, whether by Typhon attacks or the bullets of the twisted scraps of metal that were once turrets. They’re a few steps from the closest house when the Nightmare reaches the gardens.

Six dives inside and is immediately accosted by loud music. They’re then distracted as one of the Nightmare’s huge energy attacks hits the house just to the side of them, knocking a hole in the wall and causing one of the ornate pillars littering the entrance room to crack. Six climbs up another pillar and leaps up onto the balcony above, spotting and mimicking a nearby brick.

The Nightmare enters seconds later, crashing into the house and finishing off the damaged pillar. It doesn’t seem to know where they are, as it flashes from one corner of the room to the next in apparent confusion.

Six can feel their energy draining as they frantically try to think of a plan. They hadn’t even thought of searching the corpses so they don’t have anything but their handgun, and if they use only their own power to take it down they might not have any to spare later.

Below them the Nightmare continues its rampage. One of its immense energy attacks strikes a pillar and it disintegrates, sharp white shards hitting the ground and breaking into more pieces. Above, the ceiling creaks and cracks around what remains of the top of the pillar. Some of it even falls to the ground to join the marble.

Oh.

_Oh._

This might actually be fun.

Six breaks their mimicry and leaps up the side of a pillar, hanging on just long enough to hear the snap of energy coming from behind before they leap onto the next one. Again the Nightmare attacks and again they dodge, the pillar falling. They try it again, but this time their foot slips and they fall, barely catching themself on the balcony railing. They heave themself up and over but are still sent flying by the next attack. They shove themself to their feet and get ready to try again, but they’re too slow.

They leap off of the balcony just in time. The pillar above them explodes into pieces, crashing into the floor around them as they stare up at the Nightmare. It looks a lot bigger up close. And they know they’re imagining it, but they could swear it looks _hungry_.

Its form ripples and Six launches themself to the side. The Nightmare hits the wall as they leap up another pillar. They jump down onto the balcony and take the Nightmare’s temporary distraction to rapid fire kinetic blasts at the pillar until it cracks and breaks under the increasing burden of supporting the ceiling. They don’t even get a chance to feel proud before they see bright yellow-white light coming their way. The wall next to them disappears as they sprint to the next pillar.

Six rolls and presses themself to the floor, hoping to avoid taking another indirect blast. This time the attack only takes out half of the pillar, the balcony taking the rest of the damage and falling to pieces underneath Six. They launch themself off before it can hit the floor and stumble upon landing. This time the attack hits them square in the back, throwing them into the opposite wall. They’re stunned only for a second before they dig claw fingers into the wall and throw themself upwards. Another gaping hole is added to the wall where they had been.

Six drops to the balcony once again and keeps running. The next blast hits yet another pillar and misses them entirely. They spare a glance upwards and see that the roof is cracked and unsteady, but nowhere near falling. They curse and dodge another attack.

Reckless and needing this fight to end five minutes ago, they make their dumbest maneuver of the day. They leap up and cling to the ceiling near the wall before opening their big, dumb mouth. “Hey, asshole, up here!”

The Nightmare, of course, was already well aware of their location. The blast is near blinding as Six drops from the ceiling and hits the floor of the balcony hard. Above them, wood and tile alike are torn apart by the force of the Nightmare’s attack. And, finally, the last two pillars give out. They splinter and break near the middle, stone sliding against stone before falling apart entirely. The response is instantaneous. Above their head the wooden supports groan and crack, chunks of the ceiling raining down. The walls weakened by the Nightmare knocking holes in them begin to collapse, the roof seconds from falling on their heads. Six shoves themself to their feet and sprints head on towards the nearest window. They crash through it just as an entire third of the house falls in on itself and the Nightmare inside.

Six lands on the ground and rolls, quickly hitting a pile of many hard, unyielding somethings that fall all around them, the thick stench of gasoline in the air. They shake their head and look up. The house is still in the process of falling down, but they can’t hear the Nightmare anymore.

“Guess dropping a house on it would kill almost anything,” Six mutters to themself.

“I couldn’t understand that,” Alex says, startling them.

“Sorry, I was talking about the Nightmare.”

“You’ve already dealt with it? Good, we can’t afford it taking out another boat.”

The air is suddenly thick, a rock settling into their stomach. “That was what took out the boat before?”

“Yes? But you’ve dealt with it, it won’t-”

“Alex,” Six interrupts, “There was another one on the island. How many of them are there?”

Alex curses. “As far as we knew only the one in the water.”

“Okay. Okay,” Six says to themself, looking up at the house behind them. “I’ve got it, just give me a minute. How far away are you?”

“Roughly fifteen minutes.”

“Just give me the five minute warning and I’ll be there. The boats are on the eastern side of the island so that’s where I’ll be.”

“Right. We’ll be there. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Hope I won’t need it.

Six hurries into the next of the large mansions, then curses. Whoever owned this one was more practical than the last guy - there are no pillars to knock down here. No repeats of their luck last time then. They can’t bring the house down, and they can’t fight all of those Phantoms and a Nightmare at once. But if they need a trap, what would work best?

Six taps their foot, thinking and coming up with nothing. They’re about to start panicking when they realize that they’re an idiot, and the answer was right in front of them the entire time.

They run back outside to get their saving grace. Several huge generators are lined up in a row, the fuel scattered from their previous run in with it. The stockpile includes a mountain of propane tanks and more importantly dozens upon dozens of large gasoline containers. A few of them have been knocked over or punctured, spilling their contents, but most are intact, and even better, full.

Six grabs as many as they can and sprints back into the house. Inside they pause, looking around. One wall is almost entirely covered with GLOO. They can’t hear anything beyond it, but it looks pretty thick. They file that information away for later, noting the carpeted floors and wooden walls. The inside will be relatively easy then, and they don’t want to track the gasoline around on their feet if they can help it. Back outside they leap up the outer walls and onto the roof, then tear the lids off of several cans and pour them over the roofing. They make sure to soak it well, hoping it will cave in quickly. Back inside they race up the stairs and into the many, many rooms, dousing them in the foul smelling fluid. It’s only as they run back up with their second batch of gas that they notice… it.

The picture frame is taller than their Typhon form and nearly as wide. It’s made of delicately curved and decorated gold, but that’s not anywhere near as strange to them as the picture inside. A professionally painted portrait… of a dog. It’s a cute dog, brown and white with long fur and a pointed face with huge brown eyes, but still. A painted portrait of a dog. With a gold frame.

Six remembers Alex mentioning the owner of the island requesting the photograph be retrieved amd almost feels obliged to bring it back. Almost. Instead they shake their head and continue their mission to soak the entire house in incredibly flammable liquid. They finish the second story and move onto the first, starting from the outside and moving inward. They nearly decide to leave the GLOO wall alone, but, realizing there could be weapons or even survivors behind it, they start tearing it apart instead. It only takes a few moments, and as they start breaking through to the other side they begin to hear an odd metallic scratching from inside the room.

“Is anyone in there?” they shout, hoping to avoid a fight.

No one responds, but the sound stops. Six cautiously worms their way through the hole they’ve created and lands lightly on the floor. The room turns out to be the kitchen, and it was in no way spared. Dried blood and bodies litter the floor and walls. They accidentally kick a cannister of GLOO away as they step forward.

They wince and call out again. “Hello?”

Rapid clicking sounds approach from the far side of the island taking up the center of the kitchen. Six barely has time to tense up before a small white something leaps around the corner, barreling towards them. They yip and step back - directly onto something round. They trip and fall to the floor. The small white thing yips in return, stares at them for a second, and then races back around the corner.

Six groans and gets back to their feet. They walk around the corner to find the brown and white dog standing next to an empty bowl, looking up at them expectantly. Six looks back at it in confusion. It yips again. If a dog could look impatient, this one certainly wis.

They step around the dog and pick up the bowl. Stainless steel with black letters on the side, spelling out ‘Water’. Well, that made things easy.

The sink is still working fine, and the bowl is full in a few seconds. Six puts it down and the dog leaps on it, lapping up water at a furious pace. It doesn’t seem inclined to give a second thought to the definitely not human person standing over it.

“How did you even survive, little guy?” Six asks, looking around. It would’ve needed food, right? There isn’t a shortage of meat in the form of corpses… And, now that they’re looking, plenty of dog food as well, an abundance of brown pebbles spewing out of a torn bag laying beside an open pantry door. Phew.

They also notice the weapons left behind by those who had died. Aside from a multitude of GLOO canisters, there are several grenades, a few guns, and one intact GLOO gun. Six scoops it up and fires it. The chair that they’d aimed for falls over, the clump of GLOO hitting the ground with a dull whack. They strap the gun on and crouch down, grabbing one of the grenades. It’s white, ‘GLOO’ stamped in blocky black lettering across one side. They look back up at the GLOO wall they’d broken through, realizing just how it had been created.

GLOO weaponry collected, Six sighs, looks down at the dog, then leaves the kitchen and leaps up and over the balcony surrounding the center room. They’re back a minute later with a bedsheet in one hand. They sit down on the floor next to the dog and very slowly drag one finger turned claw through the fabric. The strip of cloth is uneven and ragged, but it would work.

“Ookay,” they say to themself. “How does one deal with a dog? Morgan, you got any-”

_Lights from the cars driving towards him are searingly bright on his retinas. He raises a hand to prevent himself from being blinded, dropping it back into his pocket as the red glow of the tail lights throw his shadow along the cement he’s walking on. Morgan turns up the music blasting in his ears - next time he doesn’t want to be able to hear the car engine at all._

_He avoids looking at the screen of his phone while he does that. He should go home. Even if asshat and bitch face don’t care, Alex hates it when he goes out at night like this. Probably worried he’ll get kidnapped or run over. His older brother would never say anything but it’s there in the relief written across his face when Morgan drops by his room to tell him he’s back before he disappears to get a shower._

_The sick burn in his stomach and his eyes hasn’t gone away yet though, so he keeps walking. It’s one of the few times he’s glad he inherited his mother’s resting bitch face. Nobody tries to talk to you when you look like you’re ready to kill a man. Or when you’re a tall figure in a jacket with the hood thrown up and over your eyes, but hey, silver linings right? He’s probably just lucky nobody’s decided to call the cops on him yet._

_He’s lost track of reality again by the time that something trotting across the street in front of him catches his eye. He takes out his earbuds and strains his eyes. What was that?_

_He’s almost decided the thing has already moved on when he realizes that it’s only about ten feet away. It’s a tan colored medium sized dog with mud coated paws. No collar._

_Morgan moves slowly, hoping he doesn’t startle it into running. He crouches down, holding a tentative hand out, clicking his tongue. Voice soft and steady, he coos, “Hey there big guy, what’re you doing wandering around this late? Guess I can’t really talk, but you should be at home, you know? Do you wanna say hi?”_

_The dog looks at him for a few seconds before bolting. Morgan gets back to his feet as he watches it run away. “Alright, fair enough.”_

“- ideas? Huh. Thanks, I guess?”

Sure it hadn’t worked for him, but it was better than scooping it up and dealing with it biting them. Six mimics his pose then decides to just sit down on their knees. They hold out their hand, offering a fist for the dog to smell.

“Hey, little guy,” they say softly. “ You wanna come say hi?”

The dog looks at them the instant they begin speaking. It approaches almost immediately, sniffing at their fist curiously. Six holds their breath, hoping against hope that they smell human enough to convince the dog that they’re a friend, uncurling their fingers and tentatively scratching it behind the ears. It seems happy enough to be petted. Six keeps scratching it with one hand while their other gently eases their makeshift leash through the loop in its collar and secures it. When they’re done they reach under the dog’s chin and pull out the rhinestone studded tag.

“Belle, huh?”

The dog perks up at the sound of her name, tail sweeping the floor. Six calls her name and she follows them outside, barely pulling on the leash. They tie her off to a tree a ways away from the house they’d found her in, giving her a few final pats before they run back into the house. They’re low on time, hastily spreading the last of the gasoline around and throwing the propane tanks haphazardly around the building, lining the walls with the tanks. They pocket a lighter from the kitchen before moving to stand in the center of the entrance room. Thankful that they aren’t affected by the intense fumes, they ready themself and call the Typhon.

The Phantoms that reply are closer than they’d thought - they must have trickled back into the city when they realized that Six wasn’t still on the beach. The Nightmare doesn’t reply for a few long, long seconds, but when it finally does it sends chills through Six’s body. They scream back, trying to put every ounce of defiance that they feel into it. The responding screech is closer than before. Far closer, Belle begins yapping her head off.

You’ve gotta admire her determination at the very least.

“Five minutes left. Six, get to the boats now,” Alex says.

“Can’t yet. I’m dealing with the Nightmare. Just need a few more minutes.”

“Hurry.” The transmitter cuts out before Six has a chance to reply.

They wait and listen. They’re tense and waiting for the crack and pop of a Thermal Phantom to ruin their plan, but the first Phantoms to make their way into the house are normal ones. Six dodges their attacks, leaping up and onto the second floor. A few gather underneath them, unable to figure out how to get up, while others stream up the stairs. Six leads them on a race through the building, dipping in and out of rooms. They manage to lock a few into a set of interconnected bedrooms, listening to their feet pound over wet carpet as the sounds of shattering wood comes from behind them. They chuck a GLOO grenade and the sounds of pursuit are stalled.

They duck under a kinetic blast, pushing the Phantom into another and dashing past. There’s a veritable wall of the things coming up the stairs. Six scatters them with a series of kinetic blasts, watching as they tumble down the stairs. They tear the pin out of one of the grenades and hurl it into the crowd on the stairs. The Phantoms have just begun to start back up the stairs when it explodes, covering the attackers in GLOO and immobilizing them.

An attack hits their back and they stumble, knocked off their feet a moment later by a kinetic blast. They leap up a wall, climbing over the Phantom’s heads and dodging kinetic blasts. A particularly well timed one knocks them loose and they grab onto the wall on their way down. The house is filled with Typhon now, bodies pushing against each other and knocking their fellows over below them. Six chucks GLOO grenades at random, firing with the gun to stall for time. Just as they’re starting to despair, the front doors burst off their hinges, scattering the Phantoms they hit. The Nightmare shoves itself inside, crushing Phantoms under its feet. It spots Six and sends an attack flying at them. They drop to the second floor balcony as the ceiling bursts and crumbles down on the Typhon underneath. Six darts through the hallway behind them, sprinting full speed. They skid to a halt in front of a window overlooking the ruined gardens. They fumble with the lighter as they hear the Nightmare through the hallway stretching behind them. The lighter flickers to life a moment later and they hold the flame to a scrap of fabric, another Typhon limb searching for a brick. They find one and tie the fabric to it, then wind back and let it fly. It soars down the hall and over the balcony as Six leaps out of the window.

The effect is immediate. The hallway lights up in a blaze of fire and the window flares up, flames licking at the outer walls. It spreads quickly inside as well - a few seconds after the rock enters the house the lower floors are lighting up as well. Six realizes that they need to move a few seconds too late. The propane tanks start to blow inside, glass windows exploding outwards into shrapnel. Six feels smaller shards hit their back as they flee, the explosions gradually getting louder and closer together. Finally, there’s a crack that shakes them to their core and they have to turn. A section of the house is collapsing on itself and pulling the rest with it. And it was all collapsing on the Typhon trapped inside.

Six very deliberately does not think about how they would feel hemmed in by fire and explosions with a building collapsing around them.

They cut through the leash instead of wasting time untying it and hoist Belle up into their arms. The dog surprises them by not struggling, apparently content to be carried. They move as quickly as they can, sprinting down streets and leaping over obstacles. The docks are made of creaking wood and floating platforms that are unsteady under their feet. They pause for only a moment or two as they look around. Their chosen boat is one of the smaller ones but still has a large level under the decks and a motor. They frantically look through their uniform until they find their TranScribe and hold it up to the boat’s keyhole before tapping on the ‘Hack’ application. The tiny device plugs itself into the keyhole and a split second later the boat hums to life.

Six grabs ahold of the wheel, looking down at Belle. “Is now a good time to mention that I don’t even know how to drive a car?”

The dog just yips, looking up at them with her tail wagging. Six gives her a distracted pat with a Typhon limb as they plead with Morgan to send them pertinent information. Nothing.

They curse, staring at the buttons and levers. Finding one that looks vaguely familiar, they set it into ‘D’, then stare at it some more because where the hell is the gas pedal and do boats have one of those anyways?!

“Alex, how do you drive a boat?” Six asks frantically.

“Don’t. Use your TranScribe, it can do it for you as long as you steer.”

“Oh thank fuck,” they sigh.

The TranScribe is indeed offering to help, and when Six taps the screen the boat jolts into movement. Six yelps and grabs ahold of the steering wheel. They immediately run the boat into the wooden dock, the wood screaming under the pressure. Their attempt to correct their course results in two deep dents to the other side of the boat. They turn it too gently as they get out of the dock and almost ram it into the docks on the opposite side, saving themself at the last moment. They relax as the boat cruises through the broken gates with ease. Now all they had to do was wait.

Something dings at them very insistently. The radar is pinging like crazy, letting them know that there are several dots scattered through the water. Six is only confused for a second before they dive back to the steering wheel and jerk the boat away from the first of many mines. The next minute is tense as they steer through the minefield.

Finally, clear of the explosives, Six stops the boat and flops onto the captain’s chair. Belle paws at their pant leg as they sit.

Six pats her absentmindedly as they say, “Alex, I got out. Nightmare’s handled, most of the Phantoms should be dead. What do I do now?”

“We have your location, we’re headed there now. Wait for us on the deck.”

“Aye aye captain.”

Out on the deck they can almost convince themself that nothing had happened. At least, if they look away from the island, where thick black smoke is rising from the still burning house. Six lets their body fall onto the wooden deck of the ship and stares up. It’s almost peaceful out here. The gentle rocking of the ship, the faint sound of the waves, a sky dyed in orange and yellow, red and pink. High above them a triad of seagulls coast on the breeze. The deck is warm, the air cool.

A pointed, furry head pokes into their vision and looks down at them. Six chuckles as they roll over onto their stomach, eye to eye with the dog. “You’re not half as fazed as you should be. We just escaped- yes that is my face, and you are licki-” Six sputters and gently pushes the dog’s face away as her tongue tries to invade their mouth. They make a face as they sit up. “Being french kissed by a dog wasn’t high on my list of things to do today you know.”

Belle yaps, spins in a circle, and sits down in front of them.

“You are an unrepentant evil,” Six tells them. “A very cute, very fluffy unrepentant evil.”

They scratch behind her ears, earning them swishy tail wags and a small fluffy body with tiny sharp claws settling onto their lap. As they continue petting her and occasionally reminding her that she’s a good puppy, they catch the far off sound of boat motors. They cradle the dog in their arms as they stand and wait for their rescuers.

The boats fly into view. The damaged one is gone - they’re down to only three now. The space under the decks is going to be a lot more cramped than before.

One of the boats comes uncomfortably near, barely a foot separating them at their closest. Sarah and Alex are standing on the deck.

“Hurry up and get on, we need to get away from the island,” Sarah says.

Six jumps up onto the bannister of their stolen boat and leaps the short distance across. The boat goes from idling to at least forty miles an hour in about a second, the other two falling into formation beside it. Six stands there awkwardly as Alex, Sarah, and the twenty some odd people on deck look at them.

“What did you do?” Sarah asks casually, nodding back at the island. Six glances back at the huge plume of smoke.

“I think I blew up a house. I saved their dog though,” Six says like they’re hoping it makes up for the aforementioned destruction. They hold Belle up like they think Sarah might not have noticed her.

“That’s Muller’s dog?” she asks.

“I think so? She looks just like the dog in the painting I saw.”

“Wait, you saw the painting?”

“Yeah?”

“So that smoke is coming from his house, huh?”

“Uh. Yes?”

Sarah nods, sounding strangely smug as she turns to bark orders at the gawkers on the deck. Six looks at Alex sheepishly.

“Did I mess up?”

“It’s not a problem. If he complains I’ll remind him that you also got rid of his Nightmare problem. The cost for teams willing to take on Nightmares is astronomical. Easily three times what it will cost him to get the house rebuilt. Were you injured?”

“Not really. I was in a fight in the sinking boat but the Phantoms didn’t do much. The first Nightmare did some damage, I was cut by some glass, got into a bit of a fight with the Phantoms, but other than that I think I’m good. Belle wasn’t hurt either.”

“Belle?”

Six points to the dog in their arms. “She was pretty cool about the whole thing. Didn’t bark at me or anything. Guess I don’t smell Typhon enough.”

If Alex notices the tinge of pride in that last line, he doesn’t say anything. “You and I need to talk, but that can wait. Tae-won wants to talk to you.”

Six is less than happy about that. Apparently it shows, because Alex cracks a wry grin. “Welcome to my life.”

They follow him down the stairs and into his quarters, where they put Belle down on a chair so they can fold their arms nervously. Alex fiddles with his computer for a minute before he says, “Hello again, Tae-won. I believe you wanted to speak with Six?”

“Yes. Privately.”

“Very well. Six?”

They walk over, standing there uncertainly as Alex stands up and gestures towards his seat. He responds to their panicked look as he passes them, muttering, “You’ve got this.”

I most definitely do not have this.

Six puts on their totally-got-this face and sits down. Tae-won looks a lot less like a partially drowned cat than he had the last time they’d seen him. He’s watching them with a calculating gaze, expression stern as ever.

“Hel-”

He immediately interrupts them. “I have yet to decide what to do about you.”

Lovely. “I don’t think you need to do anything about me. Sir.”

“If you were human, I would be obliged to award you very kindly for your actions today. Instead I am placed in the truly disgraceful situation of being indebted to… you.”

Six bites down on their tongue to prevent themself from saying something they’ll really regret. “I didn’t save you for a reward.”

Tae-won waves his hand dismissively. “Unimportant. My men aren’t coddled by the Yu family’s wealth - they are very much financially motivated. If they see I do not reward you they may decide they have no reason to protect me next time. The very idea of rewarding you is utterly repulsive, however, and so I find myself at an impasse.”

The only repulsive thing here is your attitude.

Six only needs a few seconds to come up with a solution. “I’m a weapon, Alex made me. Send the reward to him instead.”

Tae-won’s expression doesn’t change, but Six can tell the idea is just palatable enough for him to accept. “What a smart Typhon. Alex is so… lucky.”

Six grits their teeth, words like acid in their throat but they won’t do it goddammit. “If that is all?”

Tae-won leans back in his chair. “You would be a terrible diplomat with so little self control.”

They don’t respond.

“I am done speaking with you. Now go get Alex like a good dog.”

Six stands up and walks to the door. They’re shaking, but whether it’s fear or anger they don’t know. They take a moment to stop the tremors, square their shoulders, and shove everything they’re feeling into a very, very small box, which is then shoved into a large vault, welded shut, and thrown into the ocean. When they open the door, they don’t feel anything.

“He wants to speak with you,” is all they say as they pass Alex. They stride up the stairs. As they go, one of the younger male sailors passing by tries to shoulder check them, sneering. Six doesn’t spare him a glance as they walk past without yielding. They take savage pleasure in the sound of him cursing as he stumbles behind them.

On the deck they’re just another obstacle for the sailors working there. They lean against the railing and sigh, staring out at the ocean. A small wet nose pokes their calf and they look down to find that Belle had followed them the whole way. They crack a weak smile for her as they sit down cross legged on the deck. Belle settles onto their legs like she belongs there.

“Hey girl,” they mutter, running a hand through her fur. The two of them sit there for a long while before Six speaks again. “You must be lonely to be hanging out with me. Wouldn’t you rather be inside where it’s warm?”

Belle doesn’t reply. Six keeps speaking, half to her and half to themself. “Guess if anybody isn’t going to be bothered by the cold it’s the two of us. I should’ve grabbed food for you, there won’t be any on the ship. Can you even eat the ration bars? Probably not. You’re not missing out on much - consider yourself lucky.

“Or not, I guess. You were stuck on that island by yourself for two weeks. That must’ve been scary for such a little dog.

“I wonder if you were lonely there all by yourself. You must’ve missed your family.”

“.... I wonder what that’s like.”

Six huffs a sigh and stares up at the sky, fingers buried in Belle’s fur. They’re physically worn out, and mentally they’re in the same boat. Dealing with Sungwon had taken whatever was left of their energy. His reaction hadn’t been at all unexpected, but just once Six would like to help somebody and be thanked afterwards.

“You know, I bet people would like me more if I was cute like you,” they say, looking back down at Belle. She just looks back up at them and wags her tail. “Alright, thanks for the pep talk. We should go back down - Alex might be looking for me already.”

Downstairs they find Alex’s quarters, the door still sealed shut. They can’t hear anything through the door, but they imagine it’s been soundproofed. Knocking would be rude if he’s still speaking with Tae-won. Waiting for Alex to either return to his room or come out looking for them seems to be their best bet. They lean up against the wall and close their eyes, resting their head on the cold metal.

“Six.”

“Sarah,” they say, opening their eyes reluctantly. “What is it?”

Sarah looks at them critically before saying, “Without your efforts, this trip would have ended with all of us dead. You did well today.”

Six has no idea how to respond, staring at Sarah in shock. Luckily she doesn’t seem to expect a response, walking off almost immediately after finishing her sentence. Six stares after her wordlessly. They aren’t sure what this feeling is called, but it’s tentative light and helium in their chest and they think they like it.

“Six? Is something wrong?” Alex asks, startling them. They hadn’t even noticed the door opening.

“N-no, no, uh, how’d the call with Tae-won go?” they ask, still off-center.

“Well enough. Come in, I need to speak with you,” he says, holding the door open for them.

They walk inside and sit down, Belle curling up beside them. Instead of taking his seat behind his desk, Alex takes the seat across from them. He gestures towards a group of ration bars in the middle of a nearby table.

“You must be hungry after that,” he says.

“Not as much as before,” Six says as they grab a bar and tear it open. “I think it takes up a lot more energy to heal me than it does to fight.”

Alex hums thoughtfully. “In any case, you’ve done well. Tae-won has been dealt with - I will put aside the money he is giving to me until you are able to set up a bank account of your own.”

“I can do that?” Six asks, shocked.

“Some day. You need paperwork you don’t have yet before it will be possible. Now, I only caught bits and pieces of your adventures on Muller’s island. Can you fill me in?”

The story isn’t long, but Alex’s interruptions extend it until it’s nearly an hour in telling. He wants details on the bodies, the state of the wall, what they had and hadn’t seen, whether or not they’d checked for survivors. He doesn’t seem surprised that they hadn’t had time.

“The likelihood of survivors was slim at any rate. Owen Muller won’t have cause to object - you even brought his dog back. An interesting choice on your part,” he says, looking at Belle and then to Six for an explanation.

They shrug, uncomfortable. “I didn’t really have a reason for picking her up. I just didn’t think she deserved to be left behind.”

Alex hums to himself, thinking. After a few minutes he stands up and goes to his desk, flipping through papers. He jots something down before looking back up. “You did well Six. We wouldn’t have survived without your help.”

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” they mutter sheepishly. “We just got unlucky with Samara’s bracelet and something had to be done.”

“It was unlucky when the Typhon broke containment. Humanity was unlucky when they arrived on our planet at all. For as long as our bad luck continues to hold out, we are going to need people like you. Don’t dismiss your contributions so lightly.”

“People,” they echo, almost inaudible. They’re… a person? They hadn’t- They aren’t…. people.

“Yes,” Alex declares, voice brooking no argument. “People.”

Six is still uneasy with the idea, looking up at Alex for answers. “But I’m not a person. Maybe half a person, at most.”

“I don’t think so. With the expansion of our limited knowledge to include the reality of humans not being alone in the universe will come expansions in definitions. You may not be human Six, but you are a sentient, living being. A person.”

“Oh,” is all they can manage, feeling strangely emotional and off-kilter. They stare down at their fingers, biting the inside of their cheek.

They note as Alex walks towards them but doesn’t think anything of it until his shoes appear in their field of view. They look up as his hand comes down on their shoulder, gripping it loosely. Alex’s expression is warm, proud, foreign in that it looks nothing like anything they’ve ever seen before but they instantly know that they’d do anything to get him to look at them like that again.

“Six. TranStar and humanity owe you a great debt. As do I. I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for your actions. Thank you.”

It’s all they can do to nod numbly. They’re barely aware of Alex walking back to his desk and telling them that they can go, but he’d like Belle to stay with him where she can’t get underfoot or go overboard. They feel like their body is moving on its own as they step back out onto the deck and climb to their perch on top of the lookout. The heart they don’t have feels strangely full, tears pricking at the corners of their eyes.

It isn’t sorrow, they know that much. It also isn’t anger or defiance or boredom, all of which they’re very familiar with. There’s confusion in the mix, a touch of wistfulness, happiness that buzzes like it’s been electrified, all twining and mixing with something they’ve never felt and can’t identify. It’s frustrating not being able to put it into words. It’s more frustrating to feel Morgan’s memories trying to flood their mind. They hold the knowledge Six wants, but… They still don’t like the feeling of stealing knowledge from a dead man’s thoughts, and they don’t like the feelings they saddle them with either. Every time it feels like they learn too much and too little about Morgan.

In the end, the need to know wins out.

_He doesn’t even get the chance to regain his breath before there are hands on him, screaming in his ears, someone shouting that he’s just broken a state record, how the hell did he even run that fast?_

_He’s laughing, cheering with everyone else because his victory had pushed them over the edge and their school had unofficially ‘won’ the track meet. Track might be an individual sport, but nothing beats the knowledge that they’ll be able to walk into class tomorrow and tell their friends that their school had the most wins out of the entire district._

_Morgan lets out an undignified yelp as someone lifts him off his feet. A moment later he’s trying to steady himself from his perch on top of his teammate’s shoulders, cheers echoing all around him, his name shouted at the top of their lungs. The family and friends on the stands nearby are cheering too, yelling the names of whoever they’d been cheering for. He’s scanning the seats for his friends, wondering if any of them had avoided detention that day or being drug straight home to start homework or tutoring, when he spots a familiar face. He hadn’t even told his brother about this meet - how had he found out?_

_Pride and happiness for his victory are written across Alex’s face. He’s waving both arms, trying to get Morgan’s attention, more animated than Morgan had thought possible. Realizing that he’d seen him, Alex grins broadly and shoots him a thumbs up._

_Pride surges in Morgan’s chest and he lets out a cheer, punching the air. The rest of his team follows suit._

Oh. They’re proud. Of themself, and what they’ve accomplished. That’s… strange, they’ll admit. Should one be proud of simply fulfilling the function for which they’d been created? And should they really be feeling this grateful towards Alex? Was it even them, or did they just want his approval because they keep seeing him from a young Morgan’s view?

Also of sudden concern to them is the realization that all of the happy memories they have from Morgan are from his early teens and into high school. They haven’t seen anything after that, except for the one instant where Morgan had felt crushed by his duty to fix the mistakes he’d made. Were their memories only partial? And if so, why?

They almost feel like Morgan is keeping something secret from them, but that’s ridiculous. He’s dead, and these memories were put into their head by Alex and his team. If anyone was keeping secrets it would be them. But that begged the question why, and Six is beginning to realize that they’re chasing an answer they don’t have. Besides, it wasn’t a crime to bask in the feeling of having done a good job. Nor were they doing anything wrong by being glad that Alex thought of them as a person. They’d be glad if anyone else reacted the same way. Nothing strange about that.

 

  
The ride back is mercifully uneventful. Six stands to the side as they wait for orders that don’t come, Alex and Sarah too wrapped up in their individual duties to bother with them The boats are quickly unloaded and everyone is beginning to file back into the TranStar building complex when a small group shoves their way past to get outside. The man leading the charge is unfamiliar, as are the teenage boy, slightly younger girl, and twin children beside him that they assume must be his children.

The man ignores several protesting army members to bully his way towards the boats. “Where is she?” he demands imperiously.

“Mr. Muller,” Alex says, voice carrying. He’s just stepped out of the interior of the ship, Belle beside him, her makeshift leash in his hand. “I wasn’t expecting you to get here quite so quickly, my apologies.”

“Belle!” the oldest girl shouts.

Belle starts barking and pulling against the leash, surprising Six with her behavior. The dog had been so well behaved until now. Alex lets her go and she charges down the ramp. The twins run to meet her, shouting about their ‘Cuddles coming home.’ It’s actually pretty cute even if it is getting in the way of taking the unloaded supplies back inside.

Six realizes that they’re smiling at the scene. They’re happy Belle is home, and that she’s got such a loving family waiting for her. Any sadness they feel at losing their new friend is shoved aside as they turn back to the TranStar building. They’re looking forward to a nice, relaxing shower and falling into their bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the gaps, but like I said updates are going to be a little difficult to put on a regular schedule. 
> 
> If you were wondering, Belle is the stereotypical dog of rich people everywhere, the Pomeranian. In my experience they're either the most laid back, sweet little guys ever, or they're the literal devil. There is no inbetween. Luckily for Six Belle is the former.
> 
> There's also something I want to address really quick. Some people have asked why Six uses they/them instead of sticking with Morgan’s pronouns or using she/her. There are a couple of reasons - they don't use Morgan’s because they're trying to establish that they aren't Morgan, for one. But the other reason is a little weirder and doesn't just apply to their gender/pronouns. Six’s understanding of the world comes from three things. Their own, highly limited experiences outside of the simulation, the events of the simulation itself, and what they've picked up from Morgan’s memories. I should also note that there are basically two types of his memories - the ones Six accesses consciously that you read here, and the indirect ones they pick up without knowing they did it, like how they knew what the color white is, or that there are stars. These are sort of tied to the simulation memories. No one explained what gender is to them, just like they didn't explain what a god is, or what emotions are. They don't have words for their feelings because their only understanding of their emotions is that indirect memory transfer. How often do you stop to put your feelings into words? If you know you're happy, do you then ask if it's because you're proud, or because you're doing something you enjoy? What about your religious beliefs? Many of us spend very little time out of our days thinking about religion, and some (like Morgan) never really stop to think about them at all. So Six’s understanding is vague despite knowing that others believe in a god or gods. And to go back to my original point, a lot of people never stop to question their gender. Some of us - particularly those involved in the queer community - might give it a few hours thought before deciding we’re comfortable with our assigned gender, but unless your gender identity is being constantly challenged or delegitimized gender really isn't something you think about. Six understands male and female, they have vague knowledge of people who don't fit that binary. They just don't think of it as important or crucial, and they don't feel any need to sort through their identity. If they had genitalia they might pick whichever gender is most commonly associated with those sex organs, but it would be less a real decision and more a ‘I really don't care, but this is what I chose and I'd prefer you respect that.’ Whether that makes them non-binary I don't really know. Some people have asked for a word to describe it and all I really have is agender, but only in that Six doesn't think gender is that important.
> 
> And if you're wondering how Alex then knew to use they/them, well. You're definitely asking the right questions.


	4. Six, Livianna, and Lucien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaack!
> 
> I hope this chapter is good, I'm running on about 3 hours of sleep and I've managed to catch a cold. I'm hoping to get some more editing done on it when I'm rested and better able to think.

Nothing moves quickly for the TranStar elite. Six is beginning to learn that, in the weeks following their rescue of Belle and Tae-Won. Alex assures them that the people in charge are moving as quickly as they ever do. In the meantime they have more time on their hands than they know what to do with. They spend most of the next two weeks either in their room or with Alex in his office. They put in a good deal of effort to make their presence as unobjectionable as possible, which mostly involves entertaining themself instead of bothering Alex.

They quickly discover that they enjoy reading more than working on puzzles. Alex’s private collection of books and magazine and newspaper articles is extensive enough to keep them busy for years. Parts of it are entirely dry text on the fine workings of various Operators, others articles on the technology that was being developed before the Typhon invaded. Those pieces and others like them are of little interest to Six. They can decode the jargon heavy language if they dedicate enough time to it, but it requires delving a little too deep into Morgan’s memories for comfort and is boring besides. Their main interest is in the stories about people. Articles on the lives of major players in the TranStar corporation, thick biographies about important politicians of the past centuries, anything they can find on human psychology or sociology.

Alex finds their choice in literature amusing - he mostly keeps those books around for appearance sake or for the occasional reference. He lets them take whatever they were reading with them when they leave his office for the day, and unless he’s incredibly busy the next day he’ll even spend a few hours discussing the people within with them. He’s the only reason that they’re aware that most people think this kind of reading is boring. Six doesn’t really understand why that would be. They’re detailed, in-depth looks into someone else’s life, their achievements and what lead them to do what they did. They are books about people, and people are fascinating.

Two weeks after their last major excursion they’re lounging in their usual spot on Alex’s couch, the one with the nice view. Alex breaks their concentration by calling their name. They look up to find him beconing them over. They mark their spot in their book - a detailed look at a guy with a shitty business record and a shittier personality who was also somehow the forty fifth president of the United States - and walk over.

“With this,” Alex says, gesturing towards his computer screen, “I finally have everything I need to get you back out in the field. I’m sure you’ll be glad to no longer be spending all of your time cooped up in this building.”

“It’ll be nice to be doing something again,” Six admits.

“I thought being idle for this long might be wearing on you. There are just a few more things that you’ll need before you’ll be cleared to leave the building.”

“Like what?”

“Well, the new suit should be dropped off at your room already, and the paperwork to make sure that you can pass as human is nearly finished so there’s nothing to get done there. I just need you to try these on to make sure they’re a match,” Alex says, digging through one of his desk drawers. “Do you remember the psychotronic scanners from the simulation?”

“Yeah, why?” they ask, looking at the slender box he’s drawing out of his desk curiously.

“We’ve made a variety of improvements to the system over the years, including compacting the technology into a much smaller form. They’re about the size of contacts now. I’ve been testing a pair for you for a while, since your eyes don’t work like a human’s would. These should work fine for you.”

Alex offers them the box and they take it. Inside, as promised, are a pair of dark brown contacts floating in wells of clear liquid. “The colors are a pretty good match,” they note.

“Yes, we scan the eye so that we can approximate the colors. We’ve managed to make it so that neither the wearer nor anyone around them should take note of them. They were incredibly uncomfortable at first, but now you'll barely notice them at all.”

“Should I try them on now?”

“Yes. I have a personal bathroom through that door there,” he says, pointing.

Six nods and walks through the door. Inside is a bathroom that matches the general opulence of the room it is joined to. Marble counters cover the sink, elegant blue and white tile clicking under their shoes. They pull the container with the contacts in it out of the box and place it on the counter. The lid is a little stubborn, but a few seconds later they're coaxing a contact out with their thumb and pointer finger. The small circle is stiffer than they had expected, barely bending on their fingertip. They hear Alex come up behind them as they hold up one eyelid with a finger and begin trying to place the contact. Their first attempt ends with them poking their eyelid, while the next sees them make the same mistake and drop the contact onto the counter.

“You should rinse it before you try again,” Alex says. “Just use what’s already in the packaging.”

Their next few attempts are equally unsuccessful. After they finally manage to place the contact only to blink it back out of their eye they hiss in irritation, grabbing the contact off of their cheek. Alex makes a sound that might have been an aborted chuckle behind them. They can see him trying to hide a smile in the mirror. They scowl, staring at the contact like they're hoping it will tell them how to put it in their eye. When it just sits there uselessly they tap their unoccupied fingers on the marble as they try to think of where they're going wrong.

For a second the sight of Alex’s amused face is replaced by his voice shouting from across the house.

_“I know, I'll be ready in a sec,” Morgan shouts back, turning back to the mirror._

_He dips a finger into the contact container and lifts his finger to his eye as he tilts his head back. He looks away from his finger as he brings it to his eye, then blinks the contact into place. He repeats the motions in time for his brother to remind him yet again that they're going to be late._

_“Calm down, I'm on my way.”_

Six shakes their head slightly as they return to reality. The memories are coming to them more easily and more frequently as time goes on. They don't even have a headache this time. They don't know if that's a good thing or not.

“Six?” Alex asks, noticing their strange response.

“Sorry,” they mutter, copying Morgan's actions. They're unable to shake the guilt that's only increased by being in Alex’s presence while digging through his deceased brother's memories. Both contacts in their eyes they turn back around and catch Alex looking at them curiously.

“Did you figure out how to do that through Morgan's memories?” he asks.

They flinch. “Y-yeah. Sorry.”

“Six, we gave you those memories for that exact purpose - so that you would have an easier time acclimating to being human. There's no shame in using them.” Alex pauses, idly straightening the watch on his wrist. “If you don't mind sharing, what did you see?”

“You and Morgan were going somewhere and he was just finishing putting in contacts. It sounded like he was going to make you late.”

Alex nods, expression fond. “He had the worst habit of waking up late and still insisting on taking as much time as possible to get ready. I think we were late to half of the events we attended together. The other half I just drug him out of the door.”

“And he wore contacts?”

“His vision was worse than mine and Morgan would rather face whatever consequences there were for not showing up than wear his glasses out of the house. Our mother is the same way.”

“Why are glasses so bad? You look fine with them.”

“I like to think so. Morgan thought he looked stuffy in them and I believe my mother thinks they make her look like a grandmother. Of course vision problems are more of a difficulty now than they were before. Glasses are easily lost or broken, while contacts cannot be slept in and therefore add an extra step to any nighttime emergency. Laser eye surgery requires resources we are reluctant to devote to it. But most things that were minor nuisances prior to the Typhon invasion are now more irritating problems.”

“Makes sense. How do these things work anyways?” Six glances around the room and notices nothing different. They can't even really feel the contacts, much less notice a change in their vision.

“The contacts? Their main function is to identify hiding Mimics. They communicate with your necklace and it will give you the alert signal while the contacts will create a circle on your vision over the Mimic. Most species of Typhon have been adequately scanned and studied so it won't make note of any of them, but if there is a mutated specimen or one we've rarely encountered it will begin the scanning process. The information is useful but nothing to risk your life or the lives of others for. They’re also linked back to a system here so that if necessary I can see what you are seeing.”

Alex must notice Six’s brief look of discomfort as he hurries to add, “That function is standard in each pair of contacts. It ensures that we can see what operatives out in the field are seeing. It isn't used unless necessary or requested by the wearer. You also shouldn't wear these all the time, although in your case removing and cleaning them will be more to keep them from gathering dust particles than to keep your eyes healthy.”

Six nods, still uncomfortable. They're beginning to think that everything TranStar produces comes with a disclaimer.

“You also have my apologies for not giving these to you sooner. They aren’t allowed in the testing facilities, and our guards were testing updated software designed to recognize and ignore you until about a week ago. I didn't believe we would need them on the trip to deliver Tae-won, but that was foolish on my part. Luckily we should have fixed what bugs there were and you’re be good to go.”

“So why do I need these now? Are we starting some kind of new testing or something?”

“No. The formal testing in the test chambers is completed. You've learned most of what can be given through simulations and now that I have permission to employ you as I see fit there is little reason to continue using them. From now on you'll be working with the guards and the army on their jobs outside of the safe zone. The contacts are generally required equipment outside of the safe zones. Now that you have a pair I'll be able to allow you out into the world outside of them.”

“Wait, didn't you say that the contacts recognize me? So anyone wearing them will know what I am?”

“Only administrative and executive level employees will have contacts that give them that information. Everyone else will see you like they would any other human- er, person.”

“Even when I'm Mimicking?” they ask, ignoring his slip up.

“Yes. The contacts already ignore the Neuromod enhanced humans when they Mimic. You'll be safe from anyone who decides they're above the law.”

Unless they already know what I am. “That's good. So when do I get to go out?”

“Four days from now. The army has a job list that the squads cycle through. The squad I want you paired with at first is mostly full of older, experienced people. They can give you clear instructions in an emergency and work well together. News of your existence has been spreading so there will be other new recruits with you to reduce suspicion. The board has also decided that you need to be accompanied by one of the guards at all times. I am allowed to choose the guard, so there won't be any repeats of last week’s incident. We fired the man who shot at you, by the way.”

“Oh.”

“‘Oh’? You don't sound happy about it.”

“Well, I mean, it's not like most of them wouldn't have done the same thing if they had the chance. Getting rid of him doesn't fix the problem. And it can't be good to be fired from a job like that when TranStar controls everything.”

“Six. He shot you. That is inexcusable. He knew what he was doing - don’t waste your pity on him.”

“I heal pretty fast, it wasn't that big a deal.”

“You were hurt. Regardless of the amount of damage done that isn't acceptable. Ignoring that you are an invaluable part of my future plans to bridge the gap between humanity and the Typhon, you are a living being who had done him no wrong. He shouldn't have shot you and he was punished appropriately.”

Six just shrugs and looks away, hoping to end the conversation. After a few minutes Alex sighs deeply. He leans forward, propping up his elbow on the desk and resting his forehead on his hand.

“Six, I am concerned with your lack of care for your health.” He holds up a finger as Six begins to speak. “Let me finish please. There are a variety of reasons that Raymond was sent away. You are, first and foremost, a person who has rights. One of those is not being shot without cause and no, simply existing as a person is not cause. The man was fired as he would have been had he shot any of our personnel. Secondly, everyone who knows of your existence is also aware that you are under my protection. Harming you was disrespecting my authority. I could have demanded he be executed. I was merciful. And third, your health is important to me. You are important Six. I need to trust that you will do everything within reason to survive when I send you outside of the safe zone. Can I?”

“I’m not going to go out of my way to get hurt, but isn’t the point of my being there to help people? That means getting hurt.”

“Certainly. But not now. You’re very young and inexperienced, Six. As things stand you have just as good a chance of getting others hurt while they try to help you as you do of helping them. Given time and experience you’ll be a very capable individual. You are not there yet.”

“So why have me there at all?”

“How else will you gain experience?”

“The simulations?”

“Inaccurate at best, and they are an immense drain on our resources. Now. Can I trust you not to get yourself killed playing hero?”

“I’ll follow orders.” It’s as close to a compromise as they’re willing to make.

“That will be enough. I have the details of your first real life training here. Shall we go over them?”

It's a relatively routine maintenance and exotic material gathering mission. Essentially, the more experienced members of the army and guard would take the newcomers out to kill Typhon that were coming a little too close to the safe zone and collect what was left behind. It’s one of the first real-life tests for newcomers to the army so it was also ideal for Six. They would blend in well with the new recruits, and if anything did go wrong there would be plenty of members of the elite guard there to manage the situation. Alex was going to try to find someone within the guard that he could trust with their protection but the ideal candidate was off at TranStar East for the unforeseen future.

“Do you think you can do this?” Alex asks.

“It doesn’t sound any harder than being on the island.”

“Which you handled very well. You’ll need to be ready by six in the morning four days from now. I’m going to be in a conference call for most of the morning and afternoon, so I won’t be able to see you before you leave. January will be there to collect you and tell you where you’ll need to go.”

The conversation ends there. Six leaves that night wondering if they should be excited or nervous. Their gut settles for a mixture of both.

The next day finds them back in Alex’s office, waiting for him to finish with some very important call before they ask him whether it was possible some of the tweets in their book had been edited. The buzzer on Alex’s desk interrupts him first. His secretary sounds nervous.

“Alex? Igwe is here with the researchers from the offsite research center. They’re coming to see you now, they wouldn’t listen to either of us.”

Alex’s voice pauses for seconds that seem to stretch on longer as Six processes the secretary’s words. He then very politely tells the person on the other end of the line that he has to go and yes, just follow the usual procedure until he can get there before hanging up. Six straightens up and looks at him over the back of the couch. He’s staring into the distance, brow furrowed as he thinks. After a moment he looks at them.

“They can’t know that you’re here. You have to hide.”

“R-right”, they stammer, moving to stand up. The book in their hands slips and they fumble for it, nearly falling off of the couch before they regain their grip. They look up at Alex, fear making them indecisive.

“Six!” he hisses, eyes darting to the door. “Pick something and Mimic it!”

They scramble to find something suitable. Their gaze falls on a coffee mug, but they don’t want a stranger picking them up. A potted plant catches their attention but is just a little too big. They begin to panic, unable to find anything suitable.

Just then, the ringer for the door sounds. Six freezes. Alex freezes. They’re pretty sure that the entire planet, excluding the researchers impatiently waiting at the door, freezes.

Paper falls to the floor at their feet. The book is crumpled, spine beginning a slow break. Six’s mind jumps back to reality and they point Alex towards the door. As he rises their form shifts and changes. By the time he’s reached the door they’ve fallen to the floor as an exact replica of the book they’d been reading.

Their hearing is a little different in this form, indistinct and easier to ignore entirely, but they can hear Alex greeting his unexpected visitors. He's polite, but he definitely doesn't sound happy.

  
“My apologies for the unplanned appointment, Alex,” Igwe says. “I had just finished showing them the research facilities when they demanded to speak with you.”

“Indeed,” a researcher says. “We have completed our tour of the section on hybrids. And as impressive as your success with A-”

“Waverly,” Alex interrupts, tone severe, “We do not discuss that particular aspect of our research anywhere but in the labs themselves.”

“I would think it safe to assume that your office is more secure than even the laboratories,” the researcher, Waverly, scoffs.

“That is irrelevant. While you are here you will follow my rules, and that is one of them.”

The lengthy silence that follows is tense. Waverly finally breaks it with a terse, “Fine.”

“Good. Now, what was so important that you could not wait for our arranged meeting tomorrow?” Alex asks.

“It is not that it could not wait, but we could not help but wonder if perhaps we were not seeing all that we could have of the research you have done?” Waverly’s tone is suddenly less demanding and more coaxing. Six can envision her trying to smile sweetly and failing.

“As you were previously informed, I am going to be there tomorrow morning to speak with you regarding the specifics of what you saw today. I assure you that any questions you have can and will be answered then.”

Waverly begins to object while trying to sound like she’s not objecting. Six is unable to focus on her as two of those with her approach their spot on the floor. One set of feet keep walking, blocking the sunlight streaming through the window as their owner appreciates the view. The other set stop nearby. Their owner is a woman with more hair than her thin neck should be able to support. She’s peering down at them suspiciously. They’d be holding their breath if they could breathe while they’re like this.

“Alex,” the woman above them snaps, “Are you certain that there are no Mimics outside of your testing rooms?”

“There is no chance of that,” Alex answers sharply. His footsteps approach, comforting in their proximity. “Our preventative measures may not be as extreme as yours, but we take every possible precaution.”

“And have you always had two copies of…” The woman nudges the book next to them with her foot, watching suspiciously as it flops over. She then kicks them, watching for movement before she stoops to pick them up. She straightens and flips them over, scanning the cover. “Before Armageddon - The Technology, People, and Failures of Government That Lead to the Fall of Humanity?”

“I recently acquired another copy, actually. The book contains quite a lot of useful research but the rather sensitive topics within meant it was banned soon after it was released by TranStar South. Those who wanted to keep it had to tear out several sections.” Alex’s extended hand enters their field of vision as the researcher holding them hands them over. He flips them over and opens the back cover of the book. “As you can see, this copy wasn’t spared any more than my old one. Luckily it does have one of the removed chapters so my efforts weren’t a total waste. I assure you that I did request permission to add the texts to my personal library. I have not broken any laws.”

The researcher clears her throat, clearly embarrassed. “Ah, no, no, that was the furthest thing from my mind. I apologize.”

After a moment, Waverly’s voice adds, “Understand, Mr. Yu, that we at the offsite facility have been well trained to spot and eliminate Mimics. You are aware that none of the items in our facility that are Mimic-able have identical counterparts. Knowing that your research facility holds several of the Mimics makes many of us understandably nervous.”

“I do understand. I helped set up the rules of your facility after all,” Alex says. Their viewpoint moves as he walks over to his bookshelf and slides them into place beside the book that they’re Mimicking. From there they can see most of the room, even if only as blurred shapes and colors. “However, I assure you that our safety rules are more than sufficient to keep this facility safe. I assume that you did not come here unannounced just to question my ability to prevent the Typhon breaking containment?”

Waverly clears her throat. “You would be correct.”

“Well then, take a seat in front of my desk, please,” he says, waving the group away from the windows and Six’s field of vision.

When everyone is settled, the conversation continues. “I’m afraid that I’m rather busy today, or I would be able to devote more time to our conversation. As it is, I’m in a hurry. How may I be of assistance?”

“We appreciate the tour of your facilities. It is a good opportunity to-”

“I’m afraid I have to interrupt you there,” Alex says. “I have stated that I am busy. I would appreciate it if we could make this as quick as possible.”

When she next speaks, Waverly sounds like she’s just barely containing her irritation. “Very well. Simply put, while the research that you did allow us to see was fascinating, we are well aware that it is not your most impressive work.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” Alex asks coolly.

“The experiment. ABK-6. It is fully functional, capable of speech, able to use the Typhon abilities that it was programmed with. It is the culmination of all of the research that you and your brother conducted, the research that we sacrificed our assigned personnel to assist you with. And yet we have seen none of the credit, nor been allowed to examine the specimen for ourselves.”

Suddenly Alex’s desperation for them to hide from these people makes a lot more sense. Six is glad not to have to face them themself, fear shuddering down their spine.

Alex is silent for several long seconds before he begins to reply, his words clear and measured. “That is strange. I seem to remember your organization being a part of TranStar. Has that changed?”

“No, but-”

“And as the CEO of the main branch of the business, I would think I have the power to move our employees as I see fit.”

“That is-”

“And,” Alex says, his tone silencing Waverly instantly, “I would think that our employees would bother to remember the video calls that we conduct specifically for their benefit. As I recall, we discussed this matter and already reached a conclusion.”

“That agreement was made without the consent of the heads of the facility!” Waverly shouts.

“That decision was made and agreed upon by the Board of Directors of all three TranStar facilities and is legally binding.” Alex isn’t shouting, but his voice is equal parts ice to meet the flare of her temper.

“Then let us renegotiate! It is ridiculous to dismiss the contributions of your main research facility on the off chance that your experiment might escape!”

“I am not concerned that Six will attempt to flee. I am positive that the experiments you have in mind would be harmful to both their physical and mental health.”

“Yes, yes, we all know about your ridiculous conviction that the experiment is human enough to care what we do,” Waverly says dismissively. “So what if it can? Would you let its happiness prevent the advancement of our understanding? Would you put it above all of humanity?”

“We can find out what we need to know from the research we have already done.”

“No, we cannot! Our testing will reveal far more than anything you have done!”

“Your ‘testing’ will result in the murder of the one hope that humanity has!” Alex shouts. “You would sacrifice hope for your pointless prodding and dissection and accomplish nothing!”

“How dare you?!” Waverly shrieks. “You main building types have always looked down on us! We will not stand for this!”

“Then you will be fired for it!”

The room falls near silent, heavy breathing the only sound.

“You- You wouldn’t,” Waverly says after several minutes.

“I absolutely will. If you cannot sit yourself down and carry on a conversation like any other rational human being then you are under qualified for the position that you hold.”

Another minute of silence. “My apologies. The situation has me rather on the defensive. I hope that my outburst can be forgiven, just this once.”

Alex’s pause feels just a bit too long for it to be authentic. “Maybe your mistake is forgivable, considering the circumstances. I can put aside the work I need to get done for an hour to listen to your difficulties. Let’s see if we can’t reach a solution that is favorable for everyone.”

Six isn’t sure that Waverly doesn’t start crying as she thanks Alex for the second chance. The next hour ticks by agonizingly slowly. Six is lucky. They aren’t restricted by the same rules that the humans who can Mimic are. No human has managed to stay in their Mimic form for longer than ten minutes. Six started at twenty and has been training to lengthen that time limit over the past few weeks. They don’t start to feel strain until thirty minutes in as Alex once again insists that Six will not be working with the offsite researchers. At fifty minutes they stop paying attention to the conversation in favor of focusing their tired mind on not revealing themself.

And at one hour and fifteen minutes, as Alex finally closes the door behind the researchers, they’re unable to hold the Mimicry any longer. Their form expands and they’re abruptly far too much mass in far too little space. They yelp as their expansion forces the books off of the shelf as they themself fall face first onto the floor, their foot hanging onto the edge of the bookshelf comically. A few more disturbed books fall onto their back and they groan in protest.

“Six!” Alex whisper-shouts. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride,” they say, starting to get up before they decide that it’s too much effort for them to be bothered.

A strange sound comes from Alex’s direction. They look up to find him covering his mouth, eyes crinkled in amusement. They raise an eyebrow.

“Something about this is funny?”

Alex shakes his head, but his shaking shoulders give him away. Six huffs and moves to stand up, but when they move their foot the book it was propping up loses its balance and falls, hitting their head.

The muffled laughter from the other side of the room is less subtle than before. Six sticks their tongue out at him as they push themself to their feet. This earns them more laughter, and this time Alex isn’t even trying to hide it.

“It isn’t that funny,” they grumble, feeling a grin tugging at the corner of their lips.

“It… is,” Alex manages, holding himself up with one arm on his desk as he laughs.

Six isn’t sure if it’s his inability to stop laughing, the huge pile of books they’d knocked on the floor, or the relief, but they quickly find themself laughing along with him. Neither of them are able to stop until tears of mirth are streaming down Alex’s face and he’s holding his ribs and wincing through the laughter.

The grin Alex gives them as he wipes the tears from his eyes is at once new and entirely familiar. They feel like they’ve seen it a million times, like they’ve had a lifetime of chances to make him laugh like this.

It puts a damper on their good mood, but they’re resolved not to let Morgan ruin their happiness.

“I can’t believe she picked me up and didn’t notice,” they say.

“You made a very convincing book.”

“Yeah, because that’s so hard. Sitting still. Really a skill honed by years of training.”

“I’d tend to agree, I’ve spent an entire lifetime perfecting it,” Alex says cheekily.

They roll their eyes.  
The rest of the day is uneventful, even if they do get a certain kick out of scaring Igwe when he returns to apologize to Alex.

 

  
Their first day of working with the TranStar army begins with a head-to-toe disguise. Aside from wearing their new contacts, their usual uniform won’t work for their job today. They’d been informed yesterday that the colors of their uniform - dark grey accented with white - are the colors used for those who were working through apprenticeships to high members of TranStar. They were also unofficially worn by anyone visiting from the off site research facilities or anyone else wishing to hide their position in the organization. That certainly explained some of the curious looks Six had been getting.

Their new uniform is the light grey and hunter green of those still in training to become a part of the TranStar army. Alex had told them that the rumors going around did describe them as appearing part Chinese and part European, but with the diversity of the population of the safe zone that could describe any one of a few thousand people. If anyone is looking for them, they’ll be looking out for anyone with an odd name or displaying odd behavior. Alex reassured them that he was sure their mannerisms would blend in fine. Their name is also easy enough. Instead of introducing themself as Six, they’ll be going by Siara. In theory, everything would be fine and they should be relaxed and eagerly anticipating leaving the building for the first time in ages.

In practice, they’re a nervous wreck by the time they’re walking up to the group gathered by TranStar’s front gates. They’d gotten up hours earlier and made their way through the city to wait for the train that took them there. They have only bits and pieces of what a normal city would look like from Morgan's memories but it's enough to say that the space looks startlingly normal. What was once a bustling business center has been effectively transformed into living space, but the roads are clean and the buildings are re in good repair. They can see people talking in small groups, walking to their destinations, or waiting for the train to arrive at their station. If it weren't for the cage of Coral above and around them they might not know anything was different.

Several of those riding the train with them were also new recruits. Some seemed to know each other, talking and laughing, but others sat by themselves like Six. They don’t stand out in the group as they wait for everyone to arrive in front of their assigned meeting area. The new recruits are baby faced and nervous, a few boasting about how they could take on a Voltaic Phantom any time. Six resists the urge to roll their eyes.

The group of guards and army members is more interesting. They’re older than the new recruits, if not by more than a decade or so. Of course with the Neuromods that extended human lives far beyond what should be possible they could be any age. They’re rougher, none without a few visible scars. The army members are friendly with each other, talking loudly. The guards are quieter. Their eyes are constantly scanning the environment even in the safe zone. There’s a certain reassuring quality to their watchfulness.

Eventually, as the sun starts breaking through the thick morning fog, a woman calls for everyone’s attention. “It’s nine now, so let’s get going. First off, I’m Nadia. Been with the TranStar army since the beginning, yada yada. You’ve heard life stories like mine a million times so we’re gonna skip it. Our goal today is simple. Shoot some Typhon, collect the parts, bring them back here. If you think that means you can fuck around leave now because I’m not dealing with you. You can still die even on simple missions. You can also get everyone with you killed. You’re going to be careful or you’re not going out of these walls.”

Nadia details where exactly their group is headed, as well as who will be shooting and who will be collecting. It essentially breaks down to the guards and army members doing the first part and the newbies watching how they work together while they complete the latter part. She’s also adamant about group responsibility and not being an idiot.

“If any of these idiots try any fancy shooting, ignore them. We’re not here to show off-”

“Nadia’s just salty because Tony and I won our bet last time,” another woman says.

“Shut it, Kate. As I was saying, we're not doing anything you won't be familiar with today. Something simple for the newbies. The researchers need more Typhon material for whatever the hell it is they’re doing, we’re gonna go get it. You know your teams and your jobs. Does anyone think they can’t do this?”

“Simple?” one of the men next to Six mutters, looking nauseous.

Nadia scowls. “I said it was simple, not risk free. You want to join TranStar’s army you better be ready to die for it. What’s your name, buddy?”

“A-Alonzo.”

“Somebody write that down so I remember it,” she calls. “Now, get ready ‘cause we’re headed out.”

Six follows behind a pair of new recruits who are muttering to each other as everyone heads towards the main gate. They can’t help but think that they’d be moving much faster if they were flying over the roofs of the buildings above.

Someone in the dark blue and black of the TranStar guards falls into place next to them. They glance at them out of the side of their eye, worried that this new person will either tip off the others or react violently to their presence.

Instead of a warning shout, they hear a low chuckle. “You know, when you’re not bleeding all over, you do pass pretty well.”

That voice is familiar. Six looks up, suspicious. The man standing beside them is, indeed, very familiar. Tall, tanned but pale skin, carefully styled deep brown hair, a friendly aura and a slight French accent. They remember seeing him after finishing the official TranStar test, following him back to their room in a daze. More recently and more strongly they remember him trying to stop them from going back for Tae-won. He must see the recognition in their eyes, because he grins in response.

“Hey, you do remember me!” he says cheerily. “I wasn’t sure you would. It’s Siara, right?”

Six glances around them, checking for eavesdroppers. No one seems to be paying them any attention, possibly because the guards and official army members who are present have divided up to talk to the other new recruits one on one or in small groups. The two of them are also clinging to the heels of the group.

They nod slowly. “Yeah, Siara.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Siara. I’m Lucien. I’ve heard a lot about you, but I’ll be honest, I hate judging people based on what I’ve heard.”

“That’s… fortunate,” they say slowly, still trying to understand what’s going on.

Lucien lowers his voice, barely audible over the sounds of the city around them. “Alex might not’ve told you that I was going to be here. He wanted to make sure that someone was here who’s in on everything in case this all goes sideways, but I wasn’t supposed to be back from my visit to TranStar East yet. I think Tae-won might’ve gotten personally thrown me off of the top floor if I’d stuck around though, so here I am.”

“Tae-won doesn’t like you?” they ask, curious despite themself.

“Oh hell no,” Lucien says, laughing. “He didn’t like my dad either, but that might not be related. I’m not really sure that he’s ever liked anyone but his daughter and his wife. Supposedly he was less of a douche before his wife was killed.”

“Not sure I believe that,” Six mutters. Lucien laughs again. “So you’re here because Al- he, sent you?”

“Yup. If you’d believe it though our earlier meetings were total coincidence. Unless he was pulling strings without me knowing, which is definitely possible.” Lucien is about to say something else before he stops speaking to grin at someone else and wiggle his fingers in greeting.

Six follows his gaze and finds another of the TranStar guards standing by himself and glaring at the two of them. He notices their look and flips them off, mouthing something that Six can’t quite make out. They frown, trying to figure out what’s going on. Lucien’s smile has morphed into something a good deal more threatening as the exchange continued.

“What’s going on?” they ask him.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he replies cheerily.

“Uh huh. And there’s no one glaring at us?”

“Nope! I haven’t the foggiest clue what you’re talking about. Definitely not trying to stare down my asshole coworker right now.”

“Coworker? What are you talking about? Don’t see anyone like that around.”

Lucien snickers, and Six can’t help responding in kind. “How’s the glaring going?” they ask.

“Rather poorly, he’s too dumb to find his face with both hands and a GPS, much less take a hint. But we’re at the wall so he should be ditching us soon.”

The wall is indeed looming over them, casting its cool shadow over the group underneath it. Nadia is speaking to the army members standing there. Six can’t see very clearly from their position in the back but it looks like she’s handing him papers. Maybe something to do with the new recruits.

“This will be your first time out, right?” Lucien asks. “Have you even been allowed out into the sighting zone?”

“The what?” they ask.

“It’s the space around the safe zone that was demolished so we could use it for scrap. When the building was done we realized we had a bunch of leftover junk and shoved it all out here. We don’t really maintain it, but it’s a nice buffer so that the Typhon can’t get close without us noticing. We’re lucky they’re dumb or they’d try jumping off of the roofs of the skyscrapers that are still standing like you do.”

“Definitely lucky.”

“Yup.”

“So, about the imaginary coworker. Should I be worried about today?”

“Nah. Nobody with half a brain is going to try to hurt you, not after what happened to Ray.”

“Ray?”

“The one who shot you during tactical practice. He got sent off to the Sweepers, dumb bastard.” Lucien looks contemplative for a moment, then looks down at them. “Oh, wait, you don’t know what the Sweepers are do you? Man I keep forgetting how out of the loop you are. They really need to-”

Nadia calls for everyone’s attention at that moment, and Lucien rolls his eyes but stops talking to give her his attention. She gives everyone one more chance to back out that nobody takes before the gates swing open.

The sighting zone is just about as interesting as promised. It’s about fifty yards of space filled with broken building materials and decaying wood, scattered here and there with dark smears from Typhon who had come too close for comfort. The group makes their way over the rubble and onto the streets. They quickly enter a tall building with more broken windows than pmes protected by glass. Most of the new recruits are told to stay downstairs in the lobby of the building while the rest head upstairs. Lucien sticks to their side as another guard passes out canisters for storing the exotic materials. A few minutes later they get the message that the people up top are ready for them to start.

Lucien and another guard toss a few signals out to lure the Typhon in and everyone takes cover. The firing squad above does their job and when they get the signal the collecting begins. If anyone notices Six’s discomfort with picking up the leftovers, they don’t comment on it. At least, not until they’re crouched behind a moulding couch with Lucien as they wait for the stronger signals to do their job.

“Didn’t notice you making that face back in the life raft,” he says.

They shrug. “That’s different.”

“So you’d rather be shooting them?”

“It’s not like I really want them to live. They want me dead too you know. It’s just….” At least half of me is made of them and I don’t like that they’re essentially dumb animals. “It’s nothing.”

Staccato gunfire interrupts their conversation. When it ends Lucien returns their shrug. “Fair enough.”

The collection goes well, according to Nadia. They shift to two other locations before calling it a day at about five o’clock. They’re under instructions to return to the train that took them to the original area, then ride it in the same loop that they took that morning. Instead, Lucien catches their attention as they go to leave.

“Hey, Siara, you got anywhere to be after this? If not, want to join me in the cafeteria?” Lucien asks.

The offer seems friendly enough but Six still hesitates. It’s unusual to say the least for a human who knows what they are to be this friendly. It’s enough to put them on edge… But at the same time they think they’re beginning to realize that their curiosity is going to be the death of them some day soon. “I’d like that, if it’s okay.”

“Alright, follow me.”

The walk back to the cafeteria is filled with light conversation that passerby won’t take note of. Inside he guides them to the elevator and they ride it upwards. The cafeteria has obviously been added after the Typhon invasion. The room is stark and plain, functional to the extreme. The floors are tiled in a plain white, the tables set up in rows. There is also only a subtle hint of the scent of food. The two of them gather their allotted nutrition bars and head to a table. Lucien disappears to get a soda and reappears with one for them too. He easily waves off their thanks.

“So… What was up with that guy earlier?” they ask.

“The guy who was trying to glare holes in our heads earlier? That was Louis. He’s one of Livianna Emerson’s lackies.”

“Wait, isn’t she on our side?”

“Man, hasn’t Alex taught you anything? Emerson can’t stand TranStar or anyone who works for them. William is holding her family hostage so she has to listen to him, but she hates us all. Bitch has been spreading some interesting things around the safe zone. Most know not to listen but they always get somebody.”

“In that case, why join the TranStar guards? Actually, why was he allowed to?”

“He joined because Emerson wants eyes on the inside. As for your second question, TranStar isn’t really in a position to reject anybody if you know what I mean.”

“Ah.” They take a sip of their drink and try to decide if they like the sensation. It brings to mind memories of Morgan’s, weeks, months, spent under a boozed up haze. It’s also kinda fun to feel the bubbles on their tongue. “Is that why he was glaring at you too?”

“Sort of. Everybody knows I’m on Alex’s personal payroll. Some people like that more than others.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to keep hidden? Not let them know whose side you’re on?”

“Problem with not declaring your allegiance is you get people on both sides who think you’re against them. This way I know who to watch out for.” Lucien leans his chair back, taking a deep gulp of his drink. “I might not be the best liked guy here, but I’ve got a lot of people’s respect. If Emerson and the rest are going to try running a smear campaign against you we’re not gonna sit back and let it happen.”

“‘We’?” they echo.

“Me, a few of my friends, and, of course, Alex. He can only really make sure the laws about experiments are followed and put pressure on the board, but that’s good in its own way. The rest of us can handle the leg work. Mostly we’re trying to figure out who’s talking about you and why.”

“Don’t we already know who’s doing that? Livianna Emerson was the one with people in the guard right?”

“Yeah but that’s not it.” Lucien frowns, tapping his fingers on his thigh. “You remember the Sweepers I mentioned before, right?”

“Yes.”

“They’re technically called something ridiculously long and complicated, it doesn’t matter because no one remembers it. It’s pretty much the worst job you can get stuck with. Nobody ends up there unless they really fuck up or do something to piss off an admin. When everything went to shit, not everyone was fine with joining TranStar and not everyone was allowed to join. Some of those tried to get houses in the middle of the desert and hide out, others made small vigilante groups thinking that they were going to wipe out the Typhon by themselves, that sort of stuff. Most of them died being idiots. The ones that were left found each other and joined up. Now we have huge gangs raiding TranStar goods, bombing our buildings, sabotaging whatever they can. There’re cults too. They do the same sort of stuff, mostly attract religious fanatics and rant about how the Typhon are angels bringing the Rapture upon us all.”

“Angels,” Six echoes skeptically.

Lucien barks out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s about my reaction but some people bought their bullshit and now we’ve gotta deal with them. That’s where the Sweepers come in. They find the dangerous ones and bring them down. Unfortunately, we’re nowhere near done and they’re not excited about dying. At least not to us. I think. The cult stuff is wacked out, okay? Point is, they want us gone just as much as we want them gone. We think they’re in our system. No idea how deep it goes either.

“So when Alex realized what was going on he decided to look into it, but the cults and gangs know better than to try converting him. That’s when he created my group. Well, less a group and more a loosely connected web of people who report directly to him. Very shush shush, top secret kind of crap. It works for me though, because I’m not a big fan of the gangs and I really hate the cults. They’re all run by megalomaniacs who don’t believe a word of their own doctrine.”

Lucien sounds bitter, like he’s had personal experience. Six decides not to ask but he notices the look on their face and answers anyways.

“I’m definitely not saying I joined a California based anarchist group when I was twenty four, but I’m also not saying that I didn’t. This totally hypothetical group was run by the same sort of douchebags.”

Six opens and closes their mouth as they try to formulate an answer. Their lost look makes Lucien laugh again. Finally they settle on, “Huh.”

“Yup,” he agrees, grinning. “I quit the hypothetical group a bit later and joined a much less hypothetical group with a name that won’t mean anything to you that mostly focused on keeping the public informed of politics that affected them and keeping the homeless fed.”

“Somehow that isn’t what I imagined them doing.”

“Morgan said about the same thing when I told him.”

“You knew Morgan?” They suppose they shouldn’t be surprised, but they are.

“We were friends for a while, and he worked pretty closely with my dad later.”

“Oh, so your dad works here?”

“Nah. He died back on the space station. I guess you know who Sylvain Bellamy is from Morgan’s memories?”

I watched him die. “He was your dad?”

“Yup.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need. But I do have to apologize, I’ve got somewhere to be at six so I’ve gotta head out. You need help getting back to your room?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Six watches Lucien leave. He’s an interesting one. Not someone they want to cross, but neither are any of the other guards.

Over the next week they end up going on a variety of excursions. A few more are dedicated to collecting Typhon materials, one to safely demolishing a wall that’s starting to come apart over one of the major roads, another where they learn a little about sniping as they work to weed out some of the Typhon in the city.

Their first solo mission happens mostly because no one else can get it done. An armoured vehicle had run into a large cluster of Thermal and Voltaic Phantoms that had melted the tires and shorted out the battery. A small group of those inside had managed to escape, only for them to be cut down further along. Then, as Alex was trying to collect a team to retrieve the information they'd been carrying, someone or something had taken it. It was now in a more distant section of the city that would be almost impossible to reach without Six’s mobility. They take the job eagerly. This is what they were made for, their grand purpose. They wouldn’t let him down.

The goal is to the south-east, too far to be able to use route that they'd taken last time without cutting through large swatches of Typhon infested land. Instead Six is escorted through the safe zone by a group of guards.

When they reach the gate they're shown to the door and set loose. They can hear the echoes of fired rounds from further down the wall, but what space they can see around them looks clear. Their contacts aren't picking up any Mimics in the area so they begin picking their way across the sighting space surrounding the safe zone. Once they're across they take to the rooftops to avoid confrontations. They occasionally spot Phantoms hanging out on the roofs and drop to leap from the sides to dodge their attacks. They only run into a few Technopaths and a Weaver on their dash through the city. Those they avoid by leaping above or underneath. The Operators are a little harder to shake but ultimately can’t keep up with their speed.

Not long after they’ve left the gates they begin to hear shots being fired, voices crying out in pain and shouting orders.

“Alex, I’m hearing gunfire,” they report.

“It shouldn’t be from us. Could be the cults, they’ve been active recently… Let me see if we can get anything on them.”

They wait on standby, the Phantoms underneath unable to reach them. Suddenly Alex curses in their ear.

“Six get over there now,” he orders.

Six follows orders without question. As they fly towards the sounds of the fight Alex continues talking.

“It’s Livianna,” he says, her name a curse on his tongue. “She’s not listening to orders, I don’t know why her people are out here but I need you to help those idiots survive.”

“Will do.”

The scene they find is very much already in shambles. A ragged group of humans are firing into a crowd of Typhon. The ground is littered in body parts of both sides, black and red running together and making the concrete slick. Six takes in breath to shriek a challenge, then remembers the humans. They might start shooting at Six if they think they’re Typhon too. Instead they fall to the ground behind the attacking Typhon.

“HEY! Over here!” they shout.

About a third of the Typhon turn in their direction. Six draws their GLOO gun and starts firing. As they immobilize groups of Phantoms they send a barrage of kinetic blasts to finish them off. They get quite a few that way before having to dodge an incoming Etheric Phantom. They strike it in the back of the head and knock it off balance before GLOOing its feet to the ground. They sink their claws into another Phantom and use it to bowl over a pair of possessed Operators. They fire off a set of kinetic blasts at the Technopath before rolling out of the way. Their Typhon limbs grab ahold of three Mimicks and smash them to pieces against the concrete. The Etheric breaks free in time to get a shotgun to the face at point blank. It staggers and falls at the new shot. Six side steps the remaining normal Phantom and grabs ahold of both of the Operators behind it, hurling them into the Technopath. As they struggle to separate themselves Six wrestles down the normal Phantom and tears both its arms off. The Technopath falls to a final set of kinetic blasts. Its Operators fall with it.

Six turns back to the humans to find that they’ve mostly finished off the last of the Typhon. Six sends a few kinetic blasts into the backs of the remaining Phantoms to hurry the process along. After a moment they’re left standing in a field of Typhon and human remains. The humans left alive look at them warily.

“What the hell was that?” one woman asks.

“I was trained by TranStar South,” Six says, parroting the ‘official’ story. “My skills lie in solo combat. I have been sent to help you.”

Six can tell that they want to object, but are in no shape to reject any help sent their way. They eventually relent and call Six over. They end up trailing behind the group, supporting an injured man. As they walk several people scout ahead, a few creating noisy diversions off to the side so that the group can continue. When they arrive at the sighting zone several soldiers break away from the gates and jog up. After a few short questions they nod them on. Six notices Lucien when he flashes them a wink as they pass. Inside the group is taken away by the soldiers, leaving Six with the small crowd that had gathered to see if their loved ones were returning home safely. Several are crying softly already. A young man, maybe fifteen, walks up to Six.

“Did you see Livianna?” he asks, desperate.

“I didn’t, no.”

“Then she’s still out there! Someone has to go get her,” he insists. “Please, can you go?”

Can they really do that? Would they even be allowed? “I….”

“Six. Don’t make any promises you can’t keep,” Alex warns, speaking over their collar.

“I… will do what I can.”

The disappointment on his face makes them wish they could have given him a different answer. They pull away and head back for the gates. No one wishes says anything as they leave.

Outside they bring up their map and make their way back towards the building that they’re looking for. They quickly regain the ground that they’d lost getting the humans back to the safe zone. They find a square full of only Phantoms and cling to the wall, poking at their bracelet. They’re a little off course but it should be close. They turn and leap, climbing around the adjacent buildings. From their perch they can see their target.

“Fucking hell,” they mutter. The building is small compared to the ones they’d been climbing on up until now. It marks the beginning of the gradual ease from skyscrapers to more reasonable business buildings. This particular one looks like it’s been hit by a Nightmare or two. There are four armored cars parked out front, one flattened to a metal pancake. Typhon are swarming the front near sidewalks freshly painted in blood. Six doesn’t know if the dead are from TranStar or an opposing group.  
  
Either way they aren’t getting to the building that way. Six maneuvers backwards, hiding behind the buildings between them and the swarm. The back of the building is almost deserted. Most of the Typhon must have been drawn to the noise of the fight in the front. The few Cystoid nests that line the space between the target building and the one beside it spit out Cysts that they burst in midair with a silenced pistol. Not silent, but hopefully not loud enough to draw attention. The side door is already blasted off of its hinges. They step around the debris and into the building. It’s murky and dark, the windows providing the only light in the space. The hallways are filled with debris from the building falling apart after the Nightmare attacks and random bits and pieces of office equipment.

“Six, if you can answer me tell me what you’re looking at,” Alex says.

“Nothing much. The building is falling apart. There was some kind of fight outside - lots of Typhon and a few military grade Jeeps outside.”

“We’re still speaking to Livianna’s people but it's likely that that wasn’t them. Considering it’s military grade I’m inclined to think they may have been gang members.”

“Why were they here?”

“There’s no way to be sure. Now, you’re on the first floor?”

“Just got to the stairs.”

“Good. It should be up in the sixth floor. You know what you’re looking for?”

“Black briefcase. Should open with the code 5931.”

“Keep me updated.”

Six climbs the dusty staircase carefully, listening for sounds over the noise of their feet scuffing gently against the stairs. There are miscellaneous stains on the walls, darker ones pooled on the stairs, bones scattered across landings. One snaps under their foot. They hear something move distantly up on the fourth floor but it doesn't hear them. At the sixth floor they pull down the handle on the door and let themself out onto the worn tiles. Here the evidence of Typhon is more prevalent. Old blood splatters on walls, the stale scent of death and mold, bullet holes, burn marks and scratches across the cubicle walls. The skeletons here are almost intact.

More noteworthy are the newer blood drops trailing along the hallway. It stands out brightly from the dull of the rest of the building. As they get further in they can hear uneven breathing coming from a cubicle.

“Hello?” they call softly. “Who’s there?”

“If you’re… human…. stop moving,” a rough female voice says between hard won breaths.

“Okay,” Six agrees, stopping here they are. “What now?”

“What’s your name? Who are you with?”

“I’m Siara. I’m with TranStar.”

“You’re alone?”

“Yes. They didn’t want to draw attention to the operation.”

A grunt.

“Can I come over there?”

“I can’t stop you.”

It isn’t exactly permission, but it will work. They step into the cubicle. The woman they’d been speaking to is in her late forties, seated on the ground, leaning up against the wall. As they step in she seems to faint, head lolling as her fingers drop the gun they were holding. Thankfully it doesn’t go off.

Six curses and drops to their knees beside her. She’s obviously had a rough time of it - she's covered in scratches and bruises, dried blood, dirt and sweat making her clothes stiff. One leg is swollen, and twisted at an angle below the knee. They're not sure how to check for a broken bone but are almost positive that that's what they're looking at.

On the floor beside her is their goal. The briefcase is surprisingly slim, it's deep black leather scuffed and scratched. It looks a bit like it's been used as a bludgeon. They check the code and it opens with a click. They seal it again without peering inside.

“Alex, I found a woman with the briefcase.”

“I heard your conversation with her. She isn’t wearing her bracelet but I recognize the voice. Livianna Emmerson.”

“What do I do?”

“The briefcase is ultimately more important than Livianna. That information cannot fall into the wrong hands, and someone obviously knows where and what it is. Do you think you can realistically get them both back to the border?”

They suppress their immediate instinct to say that they can. Livianna is heavy, limp weight, while the briefcase will only be easily carried if they keep it in one hand. They pick it up, then lift Livianna up and over their shoulder. They get to their feet, testing a short bounce, then a dodge. Difficult, but not impossible. “I think I can, yes.”

“I’m trusting your judgement. Be careful and take it slow.”

“Will do.”

Six makes their way back to the stairwell and finishes their climb. The rooftop is clear but for a few Cystoid Nests. Six sprints across the roof and leaps off of the edge, explosions from the Cysts erupting behind them. They drop more steeply than they’d accounted for. Their limbs reach out and grab hold of the side of the building they were aiming for several yards under their goal. They scramble around it as the Typhon gathered in front of the building notice them and begin to give chase. Even with their new burden they outpace them easily. A minute later they’ve got a gauge of their new weight and can accommodate. As they leap into the space between buildings they see a Weaver. It has only just noticed them as they leap in an arch over it. An attack hits the space they were in.

They reach the sighting zone safely, Livianna over one shoulder, briefcase in hand. They trot through the debris and the gate that opens for them. If the army members stationed there are surprised to see them carrying a human woman they don’t say anything about it. They ask around for Livianna’s compatriots and learn that they’re all back at their headquarters, the top floor of a nearby building. Six finds it and rides the elevator up to the top. There, Livianna’s people are waiting. Two take her from Six and move her further in.

“Didn’t think a dog of the government would help us out,” a gruff man says. He eyes Six curiously. “You’re a new face. Got a name?”

“Siara. I’ve been transferred over from TranStar South.”

He grunts. “They must be nicer down there.”

Six is spared from having to answer by a voice calling them by their alias from further in. They walk up to the bed that Livianna is resting on as the Operator scans her body. The young boy from before is standing beside her, holding her hand. He looks up at Six like they’ve just told him the Typhon have become extinct.

“Thank you,” he says. “You got my sister back.”

“I was glad I could help. Is she going to be alright?” Six asks one of the adults hovering beside the Operator.

“She should be after some rest. You’ve done us a great favor, Siara. We don’t forget the ones that help us.”

Six nods, uncomfortable. “Well, I’ve got to get going. I’m glad to hear she’ll be alright though.”

They turn and walk towards the elevator doors. Suddenly, the people behind them cry out in shock. They turn to see Livianna pointing at them, her hair and eyes wild.

“Don’t let that thing go!” Livinna shouts. “It’s Typhon!”

It takes maybe two seconds for the entire building to have their guns up and ready, but Six is faster. Their phantom shift brings them to the bedside immediately. By the time they turn to look back at the humans they’re holding Livianna Emerson by the neck, her toes brushing the ground as they use her body as a shield. No one fires.

“If you want her to live, you let me walk out,” Six says. They take in the fear in the human’s eyes apathetically.

No one acknowledges their demand, but no one moves to stop them as they begin to walk through the crowd either. They adjust their grip on their hostage as they move. Razor sharp claws dig into her skin, Typhon limbs securing her against their torso as she gasps for breath. They’re hyper aware of their surroundings. Their eyes dart between forms, eyes meeting and breaking the human’s gazes as they keep walking. Every inch of their body is tense and ready to run, to leap and escape. As they reach the end of the mass of humanity they flip around to keep them in their line of sight.

“Shoot it!” Livianna shouts, having finally gotten enough breath back to speak.

The crowd glances at each other, shifting uneasily, but no one moves to follow her orders. She shouts out a curse, struggling against Six’s grasp. They growl, tightening their hold painfully.

“You should be glad that they aren’t firing,” Six says, raising their voice so that the crowd can hear. “You’d die. I’d be just fine.”

“Fuck you,” she spits. “You think I care? I’d die a thousand times over if it meant you’d stay dead you bastard.”

Six glares at the men they can see, glancing at the fingertips edging towards triggers meaningfully. “I think you’ll find that very few things can actually kill me. Bullets have already proven ineffective.”

“The Typhon haven’t done much better. You just had to come back. Fucking Yus.”

Six frowns, glancing at her before returning their gaze to the rest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bull-fucking-shit you don’t Morgan. You think we don’t know what your brother did? You all think you can play God, and we got pulled into your shit!”

Livianna very suddenly has their full attention. “What are you talking about.”

The woman laughs, the sound high and near hysterical. “You know! You headed those experiments! Hell I bet you volunteered to be the first test subject! Typhon attack my ass, you just wanted to try playing hero again. Staying dead is too good for mister god complex Morgan Yu!”

“What…?” they mutter to themself, utterly lost. The woman must have lost it when she was out there by herself. Nothing she’s saying makes any sense. Morgan died, case closed and shut.

Livianna pauses, then starts chuckling, vindictive joy in her laughter. “Oh, no, no. Don’t even tell me you don’t know? Even I know this much!”

“What are you talking about? You know Morgan’s dead,” Six snarls, bringing the sharp blades of their fingers to dig into her neck.

“Please, you’re even dumber as a Typhon. You think Alex Yu and his disgusting brother complex would let his brother die? Did you know no one else died in that supposed ‘Typhon attack’? Or that the funeral was closed casket? Or maybe that Typhon have to be made of dead bodies?”

“No. No,” Six mutters, reeling.

“Oh yes. Just whose dead body do you think was used to make you… Morgan?”

Six tries to tell her to shut up and it comes out a choked whine, their throat uncooperative.

Livianna laughs, harsh and mocking. “I mean why on Earth else would Alex have taken so much of an interest in you? You think he likes you? You think he ever liked anyone but Morgan? He’s just brought his brother back to life. Or at least a replacement for him.”

“No!” Six roars, clawed fingers cutting through thin skin, rivulets of blood running down Livianna’s neck as she freezes to avoid further harm. “You’re wrong! Alex would never try to replace Morgan. And he’d never try to use a… a half breed monster to do it!”

She doesn’t speak, but Six can feel the skepticism rolling off of her, see it in the eyes of the people around them, the ones who hadn’t looked surprised in the slightest at Livianna’s words. Their gazes are heavy, evaluating, looking for Morgan in them. Six feels sick, dizzy and overheated and unable to think, mind in an uproar.

“I’m not Morgan,” they whisper, then, stronger, hoping that they can convince themself, “I am not Morgan.”

“You don’t sound so sure of that,” Livianna says.

“Shut up.”

“Really, you should be thanking me. At least you’ll know what’s going on when Alex tries to implant Morgan’s personality into your head-”

“Shut up!” Six shouts. They shove her away and turn to the window at their back. Their fist crashes through it and they grip an edge to heave themself up and over. They’re outside and fleeing long before the humans have a chance to regroup.

“Six.” January’s voice comes from their collar, calm and familiar in the midst of their personal storm. “Come back. Now.”

They don’t respond. They just move. They climb a wall and begin leaping between buildings, unwilling to face any more humans today. They reach the TranStar building in record time, not bothering to lose their human form as they leap-crash to the ground. They stride past the guards there without a second thought. It’s only as they stand, rapping their fingers on their arm as they wait for the elevator to reach their level that they realize that it's strange that the guards hadn’t stopped them. Just as quickly as the thought comes, they dismiss it. The why doesn’t matter right now.

The elevator doors open a few floors too soon to reveal a group of researchers. The man in front sees them first and reaches out to stop his companions. They stare at Six long enough that the elevator doors begin to close. No one reaches out to stop them before they seal shut and the elevator begins to move again.

Six can’t find it in themself to care about the researcher’s reactions. They get out and find their way to their room, glad to avoid any other humans on the way there. The door shuts behind them and seals off the rest of the world.

They just need to think. Just think. Thinking will get them to the right answer.  
  
They pace the length of their room and try to sort through thoughts that slip past them like water through cupped fingers. Flashes of every time that Alex has been kind to them for no reason, of his objections when they said their safety didn’t matter, of him messing up a week back and calling them human. Being allowed to spend time with him in his office over the last few weeks. Being trusted that first week, being permitted to be in his presence without safety precautions.

Was it all because he thinks that they’re really just Morgan?

How disappointed will he be when he realizes that they’re just a confused monstrosity? A creation more horrifying than anything Doctor Frankenstein could create?

They shudder, closing their eyes. That last thought wasn’t theirs. They’ve never read that book, weren’t the one who felt a connection to the monster and his abandonment by his creator.

Maybe they really are Morgan.

Just as they start to spiral into despair the door to their room opens. They jump and spin to find January hovering in the doorway. He says nothing, watching them.

“What?” they ask sharply. Their voice is muffled by the hand they hadn’t noticed was over their mouth. As they lower it they realize that their opposite arm is wrapped tightly around their torso, fingers digging into their skin.

“I heard your conversation with Livianna Emerson. I thought it best to see how you are doing,” he replies smoothly.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

Six shakes their head sharply, returning to pacing when they realize he won’t leave. Every inch of their body feels supercharged and ready to snap. They don’t want to talk to January. They need to talk to someone who knows about the research going on here, who knows about Morgan, who won’t report directly back to Alex with their questions, who has been around long enough to know what happened back then…

“January. I want to talk to you,” they say, snapping around to face him.

“I thought you might.”

“How was I made?”

“I cannot answer that. Six, there are-”

“Was I made with Morgan’s body?”

“No, you were not.”

“How was I created, then?” they demand. Something about him being here strikes the wrong chord inside of them and they can’t bring themself to believe that he’s not lying.

“I… cannot answer that either,” January answers begrudgingly.

“Then what the hell can you answer!? Why are you even here?”

“There are many questions I am not permitted to answer without clearance from Alex!” January snaps, more emotion in his tone than they’ve ever heard. He pauses for a second before continuing. “No, I cannot answer your questions regarding Morgan. And of course the details of your creation are top secret. You are not idiot. Think. What questions can I answer?”

“I don’t know!” they shout, throwing their hands up. “Why don’t you just tell me?”

“Why on Earth would I be allowed to tell you which questions I cannot answer?”

Six groans, scrubbing their hands over their face. “Fine, okay, just… let me think.”

They resume pacing, this time in a tighter line that keeps them within a few feet of January. Their mind races, snatching for bits of remembered conversation and what little they know of January, Alex, and Morgan.

“If I ask you a question that would require you to lie, can you choose not to answer?” they ask.

“Yes.”

They nod. “Good, do that. Please. Where is Morgan’s body?”

January is silent. Six feels their panic reach new heights.

“Was his body in the casket at the funeral?”

No response. Six lets out a high pitched whine of distress.

“Six, I have already told you that you were not made using his body. I am not lying.”

“How do I know that?” they challenge. “You could be. Easily. Everything I know about everything comes from you people. We could be on fucking Mars and I’d never know. We aren’t on Mars, are we? Oh god no we’re not even-”

“Six! No, we are not on Mars! You know what the Earth looks like, and Mars has two moons. Have you seen two moons?”

“No,” they admit reluctantly.

“And the logical conclusion?”

“We‘re on Earth?”

“And you’re making a mountain out of the words of a woman desperate for revenge.”

“Nobody there seemed surprised by what she was saying.”

“The people there are her followers. They have likely already heard her theories and buy into them.”

“So it’s all bullshit? How many people died alongside Morgan then?”

“Three. Two were guards from TranStar South, where the incident occurred. One was a board member of TranStar South.”

“Oh.”

“Oh. Livianna was twisting the truth to fit her narrative. The funeral was closed casket because the bodies were badly damaged. The research center is focused on making a new species that is neither human nor Typhon - simply creating a Phantom and putting them into the simulation results in expected Typhon behavior. Very, very little of what she said has any merit.”

Six nods slowly, then sighs. “I guess that makes sense. I shouldn’t have let her get to me.”

“It is hardly your fault. The woman has grown increasingly unstable over the past years, a process that began when half her family was murdered in front of her and was only expedited by William Yu’s threats. She also has several devoted followers within the TranStar guards. I am sure that she used the information that they gave her to figure out what would cause you the most distress.”

“I guess. I didn’t realize that other people were wondering why Alex was spending so much time with me too.” Six sighs again and takes a seat on their chair, leaning their forearms against their thighs.

January pauses. “You think that there is a hidden reason?”

“Is there?”

“For all that Alex shares with me as a part of his core research team I have never heard him speak of having an agenda behind his time with you.”

Six grunts, unconvinced.

“Is it so strange to feel responsible for the emotional well-being of a person that you brought into existence?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“It was a rhetorical question. You are being deliberately obtuse.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“You are still in shock - it’s understandable.”

They nod, thinking their next words over for a minute. “I sort of wish Alex wouldn’t spend time with me just because he thinks I’m a charity case or whatever.”

“Six…” January pauses for several long seconds. “Livianna is very adept at finding a person’s weaknesses. She was correct that Alex was not close to many people as he was to his brother. Morgan and Alex were each other’s best friend and closest confidants for decades, and Alex has made little effort to establish any similar connections since his brother’s passing. It would not come as a surprise to me if he enjoys spending time with you as much as you do with him.”

“That’s not possible,” they say immediately. “He’s surrounded by people all the time.”

“And he is close to none of them, I assure you.”

Could Alex really be as lonely as they are? “But why me?”

“I can only guess. It could be that neither of you have close attachments to another, or that he feels responsible for your wellbeing as your creator.”

“Or maybe he sees enough of Morgan in me that he feels like he has to be nice.”

“...That is also possible.”

Six nods wearily. Their earlier nervous energy has mostly been replaced by a deep exhaustion. “I know I called you back in here, but could you maybe just give me some time to myself? Thank you for answering my questions but I need to think.”

“I can do that. If you have any more questions, you know where I’ll be.”

They give a tired nod as January disappears out their bedroom door. Leaving them alone with their thoughts. Tired though they are, sleep evades them. Their mind instead opts to replay Livianna’s words, the willingness of her people to shoot them, to evaluate every time that Alex has shown them any measure of kindness. They give up quickly. Books are equally unable to retain their attention, and the Rubix cube ends up flung to the floor in frustration. They’re too physically tired to really focus, mind too busy to really relax.

They eventually turn to the puzzle on their desk. It’s mostly done, making slotting in the last hundred or so pieces easy. The mindless work is a relief. They can focus on the colors and shapes of an invented canal and ignore reality. Ignore Alex, ignore January, Livianna, Morgan, the world outside of their room as a whole.

What must be hours later they reach for the next piece and their fingers come up empty. They blink stupidly at them, mind and eyes fuzzy. They glance back at the spot that had been full of the tiny pieces and find that the space is indeed empty. A quick look over the puzzle reveals that a few pieces are missing from the top corner, others scattered throughout, but it is finished as far as they can manage. It also looks eerily familiar.

They blink the blurriness from their eyes and really look at the picture they’ve put back together. It’s a sunny day, light shining down on a strip of flowers and low bushes growing alongside a wide canal. A single boat is making its way through the water. The other side of the canal is-

_\- littered in shops. Morgan glances away as the waiter comes back around, asking him in halting English whether or not he would like more wine. Morgan nods, the waiter politely doesn’t mention that this is his fourth glass, and as the other man walks away he lifts the glass to his lips and returns to looking over the canal._

_He’s supposed to be on vacation. He is, in a way. He’s definitely not at work, throwing himself into the research being done on a host of new lifeforms discovered to be living in the depths of the ocean. Nothing interesting, but enough to keep him from feeling like the massive failure that he is, working at the job that his father’s name has gotten him._

_He realizes that he’s been staring at the reflection of the cloudy sky in the water beside him without blinking and turns back to his mostly untouched meal. Drinking wine in the morning is normal in France, as he’s been reminding himself. It wasn’t as normal to drink four glasses in one sitting without eating one’s meal, but the food sits like cement in his gut and he doesn’t feel up to pretending to enjoy himself. Even though he should be, sitting outside of a well-liked cafe in the south of France._

_It shouldn’t feel like he’s trying to play a part that isn’t his._

_He knows why. Every other time he’s been on vacation, he’s gone with Alex. He also hasn’t taken a vacation since… that. His job had been a good distraction, and who didn’t go home and drink after work? There wasn’t anything weird about drinking at night even if he did wake up with a slight hangover more days than not._

_He was fine._

_Who the hell needed Alex anyways? Stuck up asshole._

_Morgan sighs, downs the last of his glass, and waves the waiter down. He pays with one of the orange bills in his wallet and ignores the waiter’s mild irritation at having to break a bill so much larger than the cost of the meal. The second that the waiter turns to get his change Morgan walks out. Maybe the large tip would make the man forget the strange American who was getting tipsy at ten in the morning._

_He tries to ignore the chatter of the people around him. The friends out shopping early in the morning, the friendly conversation between those who have just met, it just reminds him that he’s a stranger in a strange city with no friends. Not that he really has friends back home either._

_A part of him he tries to ignore as he walks wonders if Alex feels as alone as he does. He could call. Could talk to his brother, try to make amends. Explain himself. But he won’t, because Morgan is nothing if not a coward._

_He resolves to head home on the next flight as his feet find their own way back to the hotel room. If he’s going to spend his mandatory two week vacation moping and getting drunk, he’s going to do it in the comfort of his own home._

The last pangs of Morgan’s loneliness resonate with their own as they return to their own mind. Six whimpers quietly, resting their forehead on their desk, feeling tears pricking at the corners of their eyes. His memories really are coming to them easier now, and it feels more wrong than ever before. Almost like they’re accessing their own memories. Their own experiences.

And that they’re both missing Alex’s company only increases the feeling of wrongness.

Six sits up and the sight of the puzzle sparks another wave of Morgan’s mixture of sad-angry-lonely-desperate. Their own anger rises and they swipe a hand across the table. The puzzle pieces fall to the floor, bending and breaking apart. The image is shattered and with it the physical reminder of their memories.

Something in them wonders if maybe there was a deeper reason for giving them this puzzle specifically.

They tell themself to shut up - Alex wasn’t there. He wouldn’t have known that Morgan had seen that image before.

Another thought reminds them that Alex has access to all of Morgan’s memories now. He could know.

Six shakes their head firmly like they think they can shake the thoughts out of their head. They lay down on their bed and close their eyes, blocking out all thought. They focus on not thinking, not feeling.

It takes hours for them to fall asleep, but they don’t think about anything in the meantime. Their feelings, however, they can’t silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you celebrate it, Merry Christmas! If you don't, I hope you enjoyed whatever holiday you celebrate over winter, and if you don't have one of those (and even if you do) I hope you have a great New Year! I will be in my room, doing nothing and pretending I don't exist. As per usual. I hope that your New Years plans are more fun and include a significant other or friends if that's your thing.
> 
> This last updated at the end of October... Whoops. I have been working on this chapter, but it's been slow going and I had to erase literally everything that Lucien was in a couple of times. I think I finally like how he's coming off though.
> 
> In other news, identity crisis anybody?
> 
> Also if there are any glaring issues with the story, please feel free to tell me I'm honestly too sick to notice at this point.
> 
> EDIT: I was going over this and realized that I predicted Donald Trump would somehow be both the 45th and 46th president of the United States. I can't decide if that's funny or depressing.


	5. Six's Siren Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y’ello again everybody. Bit of a shorter chapter, but we’re starting to get a fire instead of just smoke.
> 
> So, uh, trigger warnings for this chapter are spoiler-y so read at your own risk. TW for: More dead people, body/mind control, murder of a pregnant woman, excusing the inexcusable, characters succumbing to a sort of drug like sensation, minor characters being turned by Weavers. Read on if you're okay with that.

The city whips by to either side as they fly through it. They soar up and above a Weaver, ignoring the explosions of the Cysts that it sends out to chase them. It’s a little more difficult to dismiss the sudden skewing of their vision, but they make do.

“You know, I used to be scared of these things,” they comment idly, vision settling as they get further away.

“Don’t let your guard down just because you can dodge them. They’re still very difficult to take on in a fight,” Alex warns.

They’re tempted to say something sarcastic, but settle for rolling their eyes instead. Can’t get in trouble for that.

“Please refrain from rolling your eyes. It impedes our view of the experiment,” Quinten says.

“Right. Sorry,” Six says abashedly.

They reach the appointed distance and look around. Their contacts catch a large cluster of Mimics so they move on, checking again a block later. One Mimic far enough away that it shouldn’t be a problem, and what looks like a regular Phantom hanging out in the shadows.

“Will here work?” they ask.

“It will. You are sufficiently far from the safe zone and our deployed personnel,” Quinten confirms.

“Okay. Going to handle this Phantom before we start.”

They wait until it’s looking away before jumping directly above it. They release their grip and fall, feet crashing into its head with all of their weight behind it. It falls to the concrete below them and they finish it off with a few shots of their handgun. It deflates, releasing a cloud of gas that burns their skin. They yip, jumping a few steps back.

Luckily nobody was around to see tha-

“Subject Six. Please be more careful in the future. Are you in any way inhibited from continuing?” Quinten asks.

I guess being an idiot does have consequences. “Will do and no, I’m fine. I don’t see any more Typhon. Should we start?”

“No. Check the area a little more thoroughly, Six. We don’t want you to be bogged down with minor fights while you’re trying to dodge the Nightmare,” Alex says.

“Got it.” Six leaps back up the building and peers out over the space around them. “Let’s see… There’s nothing but Mimics in this square. A few Phantoms about a block away, what looks to be a Technopath, and there’s a few Cyst nests along a building to the west. Nothing that should cause me any trouble.”

“Did anyone else notice any problems?” Alex asks. He receives a chorus of no’s. “Good. Six, let’s start. Return to the ground level please.”

They drop back down to the concrete, this time without the acidic gases. “Should I get rid of the Mimic?”

“That might be for the best.”

Six doesn’t bother approaching it, choosing instead to shoot it from a distance. “Done. Are we good?”

“That should be enough of a precaution. Now, we’re going to turn off the Coral nullifier. Are you ready?”

“I am. You guys sure this Nightmare won’t stick around after it shows up?”

“They do not stay in one place for long. The Coral creates them as needed, so as a general rule they are always on the move. If you are prepared, I will begin the countdown,” Quinten says.

“Go ahead.” They bounce on the balls of their feet, both anxious and excited. They’re finally going to see if they can fulfill the purpose for which Alex created them. Sure, failure is possible. But they’re just as curious as he is. This is new, entirely new. Anything could happen.

Nothing could happen, too.

“I am beginning the countdown now. The Coral negation is being turned off in three, two, one, now.”

“Who’s a good boy?”

Six whips around. “Who just-”

They gasp. The Coral is whispering. All around them, millions of words that should be deafening but aren’t. There are images, tiny segments of lives recorded by the Weavers. The glittering golden strands around them are hypnotic, dragging on their mind and pulling them in.

If they’d thought the Coral pretty before, they no longer have words for what they’re seeing. The Coral is not a sign of the Typhon’s victories, not declarations of murder. It is the beautiful, shining web of the human story. Trillions of interwoven lives. Together, preserved for eternity.

And just as suddenly, it is gone. They waver, unsteady on their feet in their daze.

They hear the Nightmare like it’s a monster on the television in another room even as its immense feet tear troughs in the street only a few blocks away. It can no longer feel them through the Coral, but it still races towards them, bent on destruction. Miles away Alex is telling them to move, to run while they still can.

Right. Alex. Nightmare. Danger? Danger!

They run away from the Nightmare and up onto a rooftop. There, safe, they fall onto their back, staring up at the miracle all around them. One finger reaches out and traces along the path of a nearby strand.

“Alex, they’re all there. All of them,” they say dreamily.

“Six, what are you talking about?” Alex sounds worried. There is nothing to be worried about.

“The Coral. It’s everyone, all around us.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes?” Alex says. He sounds confused now. “I don’t understand why you’re bringing it up now.”

“I saw them. Their stories. I could see them again, if you’d let me. Can I see them again?”

There are voices, speaking over their earpiece. Angry, worried, fearful, curious. A lovely bouquet of human emotion.

Six frowns. A ‘bouquet of human emotion’? Since when are they some kind of poet?

“Six. How do you feel?” Alex asks carefully. The other researchers are quiet now.

“Sort of floaty. I don’t think it would be a good idea to turn off the Coral negating thing.”

“I am inclined to agree. What do you mean by ‘floaty’?”

“You know that feeling when you get so focused on a story that when you have to go back to the real world half of your brain is stuck in it still? Like that, but I can’t snap myself out of it. I’m coming back slowly though. Ugh. That was weird,” they say, shaking their head like that will get rid of the fog in it.

“We’ll discuss this further once you’re with us again. For now, wait until the Nightmare has moved on and then come back.”

“Got it.” They can hear it moving around below, trying to figure out where they’d gone. They still hate the eerie sounds that the things make.

The Coral feels distant and cold like this, like seeing someone you’d thought you were close to and then realizing that they don’t remember you. They keep searching for the images, ears straining to catch the music. They throw an arm over their eyes to block out the sight.

The floating feeling has disappeared by the time that the Nightmare departs, off to terrorize somebody else. They inform the researchers that they’re headed off and leap off of their rooftop in the opposite direction from the Nightmare’s cries. They make good time on their way back to the safe zone, landing there a few dozen minutes after they’d headed out.

They look over their shoulder as the gates close away their view of the Coral that surrounds TranStar. It feels like it’s calling to them. There’s a distant pang of disappointment as it is blocked from sight.

Up in the room that the researchers had been observing them in, Alex greets them with minor concern. “Six, how are you feeling?”

“Back to normal, I think. What happened?” they ask.

“We don’t know,” Alex confesses. “We aren’t sure what, exactly, you experienced. Can you tell us how long the floating feeling lasted, or when it began?”

“It started fading once you turned the nullifier back on. It started the second you turned it off. Or, well, I guess it was sort of after I noticed the Coral was singing.”

“‘Singing’?”

“Yeah. It was… sort of like I was hearing all of the voices of the memories that went into making it. Which I guess sounds like it should’ve been loud, but it was more like a quiet sort of song. I couldn’t really see the memories yet but they were becoming clearer.”

Alex looks stunned. “Six, are you telling me you could actually communicate with the Coral?”

They hesitate. “I don’t think so. It was more like I was accessing stored information? Sort of like watching a TV, but somebody else has the remote.”

“It is anything like accessing Morgan’s memories?”

They grit their teeth. “No.”

Alex seems off put by their short answer. “Ah. Well then. This is unexpected, admittedly, but if you can ‘access’ the Coral then perhaps you can communicate with the one behind it as well.”

“Sounds good.”

Alex looks like he’d like to ask further questions, but instead he is distracted by Quinten pointing out something in his notes. Six kicks at the floor and feels guilty. It isn’t Alex’s fault that they don’t want to discuss his brother. No, that blame lies firmly on Livianna’s shoulders. Just thinking about her makes their fingers twitch with the desire to wrap them around her throat.

“You’re letting her get to you.”

Six jumps, letting out a choked curse. “Christ, January, give me some warning before you try to give me a heart attack.”

January pulls off an excellent eye-roll for somebody with no eyes. “You lack the necessary organs. You were thinking about Emerson, weren’t you.”

“So what if I was? I’m allowed to think about whatever I want,” they say defensively.

“You are. You would also be well advised to ignore her words. Did I not clear up your questions before?”

I don’t know if I can trust you. “Yeah, you did, I’m just… being dumb.”

They’re not sure if January believes them, but they don’t get a chance to find out as Alex calls for everyone’s attention.

“Six’s success in connecting to the information stored within the Coral is enough for me to believe that pushing forward with the second phase of our plan will be worthwhile. If anyone has objections I suggest speaking up now.

“No? Good. Now. As some of you may not be aware of this plan yet, I’m going to cover it now. Six, if you have questions please interrupt me. We know that the individual Coral strands are simply stored memories. The Coral Nodes, however, connect to the Weavers, and through them the rest of the Typhon. Working off of the assumption that these connections eventually find their way back to the main source of the Typhon, what we’ve been calling ‘M’, if we can get Six to connect to a Coral Node they may be able to communicate with ‘M’. That is a project for a later date. For now we want to see if we can communicate with any of the Typhon through the Coral Node. We’re aware that they’re intelligent. If we can speak their language then we stand a chance of convincing them to stop their attack.”

“And for that,” Alex says, looking up at the map, “We need to get Six closer to the source.”

“Wait, you lost me. I thought you said we can’t reach the Nodes?” Six asks.

“That is true of the Coral Nodes you’re familiar with. Those are the major modes - there are only six, one for each of the populated continents, and yes, the Apex are blocking us from reaching them. Minor and mid-level nodes are much more common and much less well guarded. There are thousands of minor nodes in this city alone, and two mid-level ones. The mid-level ones tend to attract dense crowds of Typhon, but a minor one…” Alex crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, deep in thought. No one speaks again until he leans back forward, eyes shining. “We can get you to one of them. Are you willing to try this experiment again?”

“Yes. What do I need to do?” they answer immediately.

“I’ll handle everything up until you arrive there. Once you’re there, it’s on you to decide how to proceed. We have no prior testing to base this off of - we’re exploring untread territory. Are you ready for that?”

“Yes.” If they’d been at all uncertain before, the fire in his eyes has burnt that away. Alex believes this will gain them all some sort of benefit. They’d quite willingly stake their life on that.

“Good. I’ll contact you tomorrow to let you know what’s going on. For now, head on back to your room.”

They nod and stand, walking past the researchers on their way to the door. As their fingers wrap around the handle, Alex calls their name.

“You did a good job today. We may have more questions than answers, but now at least we know what questions we should be asking. Thank you.”

They nod and slip out the door. The smile on their face falters as they nearly run headfirst into Catherine Yu. They backpedal and duck their head, staring at their shoes.

“S-s-sorry. I didn’t… see you. Sorry,” they repeat, wincing.

She doesn’t reply. Her low heeled shoes walk right past Six and step into the room they’d just left. The door swings shut behind her and Six lets out a sigh of relief. That woman is terrifying. They don’t need Morgan’s memories to know that. They’re glad that she hadn’t said anything to them - having her full attention on them for the moment that they’d nearly run into her was more than enough, thank you very much.

As they descend towards their level of the building, they find themself wondering how a pair of people that spine chillingly terrifying had managed to raise two kids who were so much friendlier.

It isn’t until they settle on their chair with their newest book that they realize that they hadn’t, not really. Morgan hadn’t had a problem with running cruel experiments on people he’d known might or might not have been falsely accused. He’d been the one behind the design of the Typhon experiments. He must have watched dozens of people go into that chamber. Pushed the button that let in the Weaver. Sat there and took notes while it wrapped them up and changed them. Signed his name and killed the newly made Typhon to harvest it for parts.

And Alex… He was more focused on the technological and managerial duties, wasn’t he? He couldn’t have been that involved. Just signed off on his brother’s requests. Maybe he’d never even seen the prisoners, never actually watched them die…

“Too optimistic,” they mutter, biting their lip. Alex wasn’t the sort to ignore a scientific advancement like that. So what had he done?

They hate to do it, but more than that they hate the feeling of doubting Alex. They sigh, close their eyes, and dive in Morgan’s memories.

  
_“Oh my God! What the fuck is that thing?!”_

_Morgan’s heart is in his throat, but he can’t tear his eyes away from… it. The thing that the Mimics had created, a writhing black and grey mass that, while disturbing, hasn’t done much more than hover there. It hasn’t attacked the Mimics in retaliation, and they aren’t reacting to it like it’s an enemy. In fact, they’ve all gone back to scuttering around in search of objects to Mimic._

_He notes his observations, walking around the perimeter of their container. It’s only then that he realizes the researchers under him are hovering anxiously near the walls. They still look petrified of the new creature._

_He mutters a curse, rolling his eyes. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Come over here and tell me what you can observe.”_

  
_Morgan watches as his brother looks over the new creature. “What did you say you’re calling this thing?” Alex asks._

_“We’ve named the new specimen ‘Greater Mimic’. What do you think, Alex?”_

_“It is as interesting as you said it was. You failed to mention how worrying it is.”_

_“Worrying?”_

_“You said that this happened for no apparent reason after the other Mimics attacked it?”_

_“Yeah. We aren’t sure what prompted that reaction, but we’re looking into it.”_

_“It’s the ‘not sure’ part that worries me. You do not know why this happened, how, or to what purpose. It could be intended to do just about anything and you don’t seem concerned.”_

_“It hasn’t done anything but float there,” Morgan says dismissively. “If it were going to do anything it would have already. Look, I just need you to clear me for human experiments on it. I want to know if it’ll react to a living human like Mimics do.”_

_“Absolutely not.”_

_“Alex!”_

_“Morgan, you don’t know what that thing will do!”_

_“So what?! How do you propose we find out then?”_

_“We don’t! We kill this thing before it kills us! You’ve seen what the regular Mimics do, what on Earth could you gain from putting one of the prisoners in there with it?”_

_“Why would we assume that a regular Mimic and a Greater Mimic are at all the same? Alex, you know we can’t just kill it! This is the first Greater Mimic we’ve ever seen. Imagine what we could learn from it?”_

_Alex stares at the Greater Mimic, arms crossed. “Fine. Fine, you can try your experiment, but I want to see what it does first hand. And Morgan, promise me that I’m not going to regret this.”_

_“Of course you won’t.” Morgan grins. He’d known his brother would come around._

_“Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh my fucking God,” Morgan breathes. He can’t tear his eyes away from the sight on display in the containment chamber._

_The Greater Mimic floats just as harmless-looking as before. The thing that was a man is now staring blankly out at them. It’s vaguely humanoid, taller than it had been but not much taller than a rather tall human. It looks to be made of the same constantly moving black and grey as the other Typhon. It does not move._

_Alex’s face is as pale as Morgan knows his must be. His eyes are bugging out of his head, one_   
_hand over his mouth, the other clutching his clipboard like a lifeline._

_“Do you think it can hear us?” Morgan asks._

_“How on Earth would I- Morgan! Don’t!”_

_He ignores his brother and continues to approach the glass. The new thing doesn’t move, doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s there. This close he can see that it even has staticky white ‘eyes’ where normal eyes might be on a human._

_“Hello?” he says, looking up to meet those ‘eyes’. “Your name was… Christopher Petrov. If you can communicate, please do so.”_

_It? He? doesn’t respond._

_“Right. Either speak or we’ll be forced to kill you.”_

_Still nothing, not even a flicker of movement to indicate understanding. Morgan sighs._

_“Now that you’ve verified that it won’t speak will you please get away from that thing?” Alex asks. He sounds strained._

_“Fine, fine. Alex, we should go look at the recording, maybe we can-”_

_“What do you see in the glass?”_

_A chill runs down Morgan’s spine. He spins to stare at the thing. It hasn’t moved an inch._

_“Did it just…?”_

_“I think so?” Alex says. “Unless it was the Greater Mimic?”_

_“No, it hasn’t spoken before… Can you speak?” he asks the thing._

_When it once again refuses to reply, he returns to his brother’s side. Alex is visibly shaken. As they return to the recording room Alex nearly collapses into a chair, staring down at the table without seeing it. Morgan stays standing and begins playing the recording again. And again. And again. He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Alex’s hand takes his elbow and gently steers him into a chair. He looks up at his brother._

_“This is… this is good, right?” Morgan asks. “It’s what the board-” what Father “-wanted, right?”_

_Alex looks troubled. “I… They did demand we take more drastic measures in experimenting with the Typhon. Whether this will be considered progress remains to be seen.”_

_The screaming on the recording cuts off. Morgan doesn’t look at it. Neither does Alex._

_“Let’s just… Let’s review the video later. Take a break for tonight. We’ll come back to this tomorrow,” Alex says. Morgan follows his brother out, past the Typhon that seem to watch their every move._

_When tomorrow comes, they see Coral for the first time and review the tapes to find that the Greater Mimic had woven the stuff out of nothing. They rechristen it a ‘Weaver’ and later give its initial name to the creatures it upgrades the normal Mimics to when left alone with them._

_The next week Alex stands next to him as they create new Phantoms en mass, then release the Weaver back to its container and kill the Phantoms to harvest their bodies. They’ve started incorporating larger amounts of ‘exotic material’ into the Neuromods to see if maybe Typhon aren’t the only ones with the ability to use these powers. He feels nothing but mild impatience at the length of the process._

_A month and a half later, Morgan watches one of the prisoners light on uncontrollable fire when he’s forced to use the Neuromod they’d implanted in his brain. The charred husk is disgusting but the smell is gone by noon._

_Two months, and he’s lifting a set of boxes with his mind. The other researchers are shouting and clapping in the room behind him. He feels like he could be a god._

_(He doesn’t have words for the emotion that claws its way up his spine and digs fangs into his brain when he first hears one of them ask “Morgan?”.)_

 

Six gasps, clutching their head like it might roll off if they let go. “What the fuck. _What the fuck._ ”

Without Morgan there to filter the horror of what he’d seen, they’re left to work through it on their own. The man’s screams, his struggling limbs going so suddenly limp, his voice warped and lost as the Phantom spoke through it… How could anyone see that and decide to do it again? Make it the crux of his grand ambition to change the world?

How could Alex just let that happen?

No. No. It wasn’t Alex’s fault. It wasn’t even really Morgan’s.

It was all on their parents. The board. They’d demanded results, demanded perfection from the two of them. What choice had they had but to concede?

They couldn’t have fought back.

It just wasn’t possible.

Six grits their teeth, sick fire burning in their gut. Fuck Catherine Yu. Fuck William Yu. Fuck the board, for lacking the spine to get rid of those monsters. Fuck them all for hurting Alex.

They won’t forgive them.

 

The next day finds them dodging paintballs in a training room they’ve never been in before. Grace, or General according to her people is watching from the sidelines as they work to take Six down. Several have handicaps - they can’t move, or are using a gun with limited bullets. It’s different from everything they’ve done before in that it isn’t a test of their abilities but of others. It also means that despite their best efforts, they’re eventually going to fail.

They take another paintball to the back and a whistle sounds. They land and groan. They aren’t as bad as real bullets but those things hurt.

Laughter comes from behind them. “Sore?”

Six turns to Lucien as he jogs up. “That last shot was yours, wasn’t it?”

“Guilty as charged. Gotta pull my weight if Grace is going to keep letting me come train with her guys.”

“So you had to hit me in the same spot I was just shot in?”

“If I say it was a coincidence am I off the hook?”

“Depends. Would you be lying?”

“Absolutely.”

Grace’s voice reaches their collar before they can respond. “That took twenty five minutes total. Not as good as our best time, but Six can adapt to our patterns better than the Typhon do. Try finding a new pattern to confuse her. Last round in two minutes, get into position.”

Lucien must notice their flinch. “You know you could tell her you prefer they/them, right?”

They look away, shrugging. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“If you say so. See you in fourteen minutes,” he calls, jogging back the way he’d come.

“You wish,” they call back. His teasing is good natured, but they’re having trouble keeping up with it. Little things keep setting off their memories and the headaches might be gone but their stomach has felt uneasy ever since last night. They don't want to know what they’ll see next. They didn’t want to see what had happened in those labs. They hate knowing that they might’ve been the one that did all of it.

“One minute remaining.”

Six curses and darts between buildings. They run what they think will be an acceptable distance from where they’d been caught last time and duck into an ‘office building’. Their most successful plans so far have involved lurking inside of the buildings and using their much more flexible form to avoid the gunfire. It feels a little like cheating, but when one of Grace’s people had said as much Grace had told her she was being ridiculous and Six was merely using the resources available to them. She had asked them not to Mimic anything afterwards, but that they thought was fair.

Six quickly climbs up to the fifth floor and ducks behind one of the central cubicle walls. They wait through the whistle signaling the beginning of the simulation. No one enters the building - at least not that they can hear. So no one knew where they were just yet.

They look out over the dingy room and sigh. The problem with this particular kind of training was that it involved waiting. They consider themself a patient person, but time to think is the last thing that they want right now, with Morgan haunting their mind. The visions from him are getting darker, memories dragged to light that make them want to scream.

For the most part though, they find themself wondering where the kid who punched walls to punish himself went. They can’t imagine him running those Phantom experiments. Can’t even really imagine the Morgan who woke up in his apartment and went to meet his brother to begin his job at TranStar doing what they’d seen him do only a few months later. Where had every-

_-thing gone wrong? How had he let this happen? Morgan sits there, trying not to let his eyes bug out of his head as the man - what had he said his name was? Sylvester? Simon? - that was apparently at the head of the experiments at Morgan’s order reviews their newest set of test runs._

_“We lost a few of the experiments to faulty wiring. Remember everyone, those are valuable resources. We can’t be using them recklessly. Be sure that your Neuromods have a chance of being successful before you implant them. And… that’s it. Does anyone have concerns they want to bring up?”_

_One of the men on the team leans forward. “Yeah. Why isn’t Morgan leading this meeting? I get that he’s been out sick for a while but he looks fine now.”_

_Whatever his name was straightens his glasses. “Due to Morgan’s illness, he has fallen behind on reading through our advancements. As both he and Alex believe I am an adequate stand in until he returns, I am running this meeting. Does that answer your question?”_

_It obviously doesn’t, but the other man doesn’t object again. The meeting breaks up and the head researcher leads Morgan out among the containment pods. He points out a few that contain what he says are newer discoveries. Morgan pauses in front of a rchamber that looks to be filled with nothing but dozens of copies of the same mug._

_“Is this here for a reason?” he asks. He regrets it the moment he says it._

_The head researcher looks at him strangely. “Yes? Mimics are less of a distraction when they’re busy pretending to be objects. Morgan, are you quite alright? You haven’t seemed to be listening to a thing I’ve said.”_

_“Y-yeah, no, I’m fine. So, uh, what were you saying?”_

_He keeps frowning. “Are you certain you are alright? I could call Alex here, if you-”_

_“No!” Morgan winces at the shout and speaks more quietly. “No, no we don’t need to call Alex over here. Everything is fine.”_

_“I don’t know if I-”_

The memory cuts off mid word as something hits their face in rapid succession. They reel back, blinded by paint. They don’t get a chance to run away before more paintballs hit them and the whistle calling the session to an end splits their ears. They bitterly wipe paint out of their eyes as the team that had gotten them whoops and high fives. They trail along behind them as they leave the building, blinking in the light. One of the men looks back at them and pauses.

“Hey, Typhon bitch. What the hell were you doing anyways?” he asks.

“Nothing,” they say, He must notice the defensive tone in their voice, because he grins maliciously.

“Oh really? You sure looked like you were doing something. What, you that scared of us?”

Normally this level of taunt would just be obnoxious. When they’re on edge from a constant barrage of Morgan’s darker memories and had spent an entire afternoon losing to him and the others, however… It’s more difficult to ignore. They clench their fists and their teeth, glaring at the man. He sneers. “What, you wanna say something? The little Typhon bitch wants to fight me?”

They’re about to say something they’d regret when a man walks up and crosses his arms, glaring down at the one that had been antagonizing them. “Brian, you’re getting on my damn nerves. General said don’t be a dick. Fuck off before she notices you being an idiot.”

Brian looks like he’d like to say more, but instead shuts up and stalks off. Six looks up at the new man. They’re hesitant, but they speak up anyways. “Um. Thanks. For that.”

He looks them over curiously, lingering on their face. “Sure thing. Brian’s an ass anyways. See you around.”

As he walks off, Lucien steps up from behind them. “I was going to step in, but looks like I didn’t need to.”

“I guess not. Why did he do that?”

He shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe you’ve just got Morgan’s magnetic personality. Everybody loved that guy.”

“I do not have his personality,” they say, more venom in their words than they’d intended.

Lucien holds his hands up. “Woah, calm down. I wasn’t saying you do.”

Six doesn’t respond. Lucien hums to himself, thinking.

“So,” he says. “You finally heard those rumors, huh?”

“Livianna told me.”

“When did you- You know what, not important. Is it bothering you?”

“Of course it is! Who wants to be told that they exist to be a new and improved version of a dead man?” Who wants to know that everyone around them is only kind because they’re expecting them to be someone else?

“Who cares? You’re not Morgan, so why worry about whether or not people expect you to be?”

“I just… I’m not Morgan. I don’t want to be treated like Morgan.”

Lucien, inexplicably, snickers. “Trust me, if I were treating you like Morgan you’d notice.”

Six looks at him in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing. C’mon, we’ve just about done here and I want dinner already.”

He leads them back to their original gathering point. Grace makes a short speech about how smoothly things had gone today and announces that she’s planning to do this again soon. A few people exchange glances at the announcement, but there’s no objections. Six catches the man who has defended them going to speak with Grace as the meeting breaks up.

 

Two days later they watch out the bulletproof windows of the military grade vehicle they’re sitting in as it races through the streets that TranStar has cleared for it. It comes to a sharp halt inside of a garage and they step out.

“We’re here,” they inform Alex.

“Good. Your bracelet has the map and your destination programmed into it. Remember what you have to do -find the node, clear the area, and we’ll attempt communication.”

“Got it. Leaving now.”

They don’t enjoy the dash through the city as much as they generally do. Morgan’s memories are heavy on their mind, and the fact that they’ve been unable to stop little snippets of the experiments from flashing through their head even when they aren’t looking for them is stomach turning. There isn’t enough of a challenge in dodging the floating Typhon to distract them. There’s a kernel of hope there, though. Morgan felt nothing when he unleashed the Weavers on people. Six can barely handle the memories. Ergo, they aren’t Morgan.

Except, a dark corner of their mind whispers, Morgan couldn’t handle knowing what he’d done after he lost his memories the first time either.

“Six, you’re there. Clear the area and we’ll begin,” Alex says.

Mimics, four Phantoms. One Weaver hanging out way off to the other side. Six climbs higher and aims their shotgun. One, two, three, and the shield around it vanishes. They keep shooting until it falls, corpse landing on top of a cluster of Mimics. They raise thermal attacks underneath their writhing forms and they stop moving. A kinetic blast hits their shoulder and they send a volley back at the Phantom. It falls and does not get up.

They launch themself off of the wall and land squarely on top of another Phantom. It crashes to the cement and they punch it until it stops struggling. They duck underneath an attack from the Etheric Phantom, launching themself at its legs. It falls with them. They scramble onto its back and tear through one arm, throwing it at the remaining Phantom to keep it back. They drive Typhon limbs into the Phantom under them until it stops moving too. They roll off of it before the acidic gases can reach them, searching for the last one. It phases behind them, clawing at their back. They duck and roll again, firing kinetic blasts. They keep dodging and attacking until it dies too. The Mimics they take care of from a distance, their desire to tear something, anything, _-Livianna, Morgan-_ apart satiated.

“It’s done,” they say.

“Impressiving fighting, Six.” Alex doesn’t mention that they could have stayed out of range and shot the Typhon from a safe distance. Nice of him. “Please find higher ground and double check that there aren’t any Typhon coming to replace them.”

They follow his instructions. “Nothing.”

“Good. Let’s try this,” he says. The barely contained eagerness in his voice warms them, just a little.

They leap back down and walk up to the Coral Node they hadn’t really looked at before. It really doesn’t look all that different from the one they’d seen on Talos One. Just a random cluster of Coral, nothing truly new if it weren’t for the fact that sections of it glowed with an ominous red light.

“Is this really what I’m looking for?” they ask.

“It is. The other team is in place now. Turning off their nullifiers should draw the Nightmares to them. Hopefully having more than one of them in the same place will make the ones nearby go there. Are you ready for us to turn off the Coral nullifier or do you need a moment to gather yourself?”

Six takes a deep breath, trying to center themself. They close their eyes and shake their head to clear it. No board, no Morgan, no Livianna, just them and Alex and the potential to be what they were born to be. They open their eyes. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

“Good. I’ll turn off the nullifier in three, two, one. Now.”

The music is as glorious as before. Quiet but tempting, humming in their ears and trying to carry them away. They ignore the siren call and the images that pull at their attention to focus on the Coral Node. They can really see it now. The red is not natural - it should not be there, a poison on the pure gold, sour notes of a badly tuned guitar against the song of the Coral. They frown, reaching out.

The music cuts out, the visions vanishing. Six, expecting it this time, comes out of the fog more easily. Still, their words slur as they ask, “Are they coming here?”

“We’ve confirmed that the Nightmares are focused on the team across town. We don’t see any more on the cameras near you. Did you see anything?” Alex asks.

“More of the music. The memories. This red stuff isn’t supposed to be here,” Six says, deeply disturbed but not sure why. “It sounds wrong.”

“Fascinating… Six, are you able to communicate with it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you able to try?”

“Yes. Let’s do this.” They try to ignore the eagerness in their chest. They don’t want to hear the music again - they just want to see if they really can communicate with the Typhon. That’s all.

“Alright. Turning it off in three, two, one. Now.”

The music is back. It’s easier to ignore the draw when they can focus on the dissonance of the red covering their Coral. They step forward and brush a hand against it. They gasp. It isn’t like the rest of the Coral. Through it, they can feel the Typhon. The Phantom walking through the office building beside them, the Mimics scattered throughout the city, the Weaver pulling together a tapestry of humanity, a beautiful, shimmering testament to the lives lived on this tiny rock they call Earth-

They cry out as they’re torn away from it all. “No- !”

“Six? Six, can you hear me?”

Alex sounds worried. It takes them a moment to remember how to speak. “Yes…” they breathe.

“Who am I? Give me a name.”

“Uh? You’re Alex? Alex Yu?” What a strange question.

“It is not a strange question.” They hadn’t said that out loud, had they? “I needed to know that you remember who you are. What just happened?”

“I…” They shake their head, the fog clinging tight to their mind. “The Coral connects us- them, all. Their memories travel along the Coral, not just humans’. When I touched it I could feel all of them.”

“Could you speak to them?” Alex asks, intent.

“I didn’t try,” they confess. “Sorry, it was… overwhelming.”

“That’s fine. Can you do that for us one more time?” Alex asks.

“Yes,” they answer immediately, fingers already reaching for the Node.

“Six. Are you sure you won’t get lost in there?”

“What? No, I’m fine,” they insist. Why did he sound worried? They were fine.

Alex hesitates for far longer than they think necessary. “If you insist. This will be the last time, do you understand?”

“Yes, that’s fine. I can do this.” They hadn’t meant to say that last part, but that’s fine. Anything to get this nullifier turned off.

“Then, for the third and final time. Nullifier deactivated in three, two, one. Now.”

They like Alex’s voice, but they’re so happy when it stops. The call of the Coral is so much more beautiful. So warm, so welcoming. The Coral has no hidden motivation, no dark past to muddle through. Their fingers caress the Node before they dive into it. They’re flooded with the Typhon, walking, floating, hiding.

Almost without meaning to, they call out. “Hello?”

Nothing.

“Can you all hear me?”

A Weaver stops moving. A Phantom looks back over its shoulder.

“You can hear me! Hello! I’m Six. Do you have names?”

They hear something, but it is obscured by the music. They frown. That does not seem right. “Could you repeat that? I couldn’t quite-”

This time they scream when the Coral is torn away from them. Their fingers grapple for the soft, heavenly connection and find nothing. “No, no, nononono!”

“Six!” Alex shouts. “Respond to me or I’ll be forced to-”

“Alex!” they cry. “Let me go back! I have to go back!”

“Absolutely not. You are going to go back to the garage and come home. Immediately.”

“Alex, please-”

“Six. Get away from that thing now.”

The order snaps through their desperation. If Alex sounds like that, that strange mixture of desperate and deeply concerned and in charge, they need to listen. They back up a few steps, still staring at the Node.

“I said now.”

They close their eyes and turn away. Climbing the building feels like trying to drag their way out of a pool of wet cement, but they manage. Up on top of the building their head is clearer. Blurry, fogged up, but awake enough to know that something very, very strange was going on.

“Oh.Oh shit. What just…?” they ask.

“I’m not sure. You did something though. The Nightmares that were chasing down the team are on their way there now. You need to leave. We’ll continue this experiment at another time.”

Six looks back down at the Coral Node. The draw is there, stronger than they’d thought possible, but it’s now tinged with an edge of wariness. Something about that thing made them lose their mind and they aren’t fond of the feeling. And yet… They also feel the creeping shame of failure digging out a den in their chest.

They can hear the rest of the research team talking quietly among themselves while they file out of the room. They don’t know if they’re imagining the disappointment in their voices. It still stings.

Is Alex disappointed? He must be.

They were going to let him down.

“Alex, I swear, I was close that last time,” they say, staring at the Coral Node like it’s mocking their failure. “Let me try one more time. I know what will happen now, it won’t catch me off guard.”

Alex sighs. “Igwe. Please wait for me outside. I will be there momentarily.”

They can’t hear Igwe leave but the sound of the door shutting behind him is clear enough. Alex begins speaking a moment later. “We don’t have to finish this today, Six. We can come back to this experiment at a later date.”

“But you had to waste time and resources getting me here! And what if I can get through to the Typhon? Or that thing that’s out there? I could fix this today.”

“There is a very slim chance of that and I know I’ve already told that to you. There is every chance that that they will hear you and ignore you. Everything that we know about ‘M’ comes from what you and Morgan told us, and none of that indicates a person who would be willing or even capable of stopping the damage that is being done. The Nightmares aren’t coming to say hello, Six. They’re coming to kill you. Come home. We’ll try this again when we know more.”

“How are we ever going to know more if we don’t try?” Six’s voice is edging towards desperation.

“Six. Please don’t make me make this an order.” Their determination to continue wavers at the genuine request. From anyone else it might have been a threat, but not Alex.

“Alex…” They trail off, trying and failing to put their thoughts together in a way that he will be able to understand. There is something there. Something that can listen to them, something they can reach if they just try a little bit harder. “Isn’t this why I was made?”

Alex groans. “Six, the Nightmare distraction team are already on their way back. The Nightmares are coming closer as we speak. You can’t stay there.”

“They’re all the way on the other side of the city!” Six argues. “Alex, please, I have to do this. I can do this.”

Silence. “Fine. I’m going to trust that you aren’t taking a foolish risk.”

“Thank you.” Their voice breaks. They dive back down the skyscraper, darting back up to the Coral Node and waiting for the music to begin again.

“Six-” _“Morgan-”_ “-Promise me that I’m not going to regret this.”

“I’m not going to make the same mistake that he did. I’ve got this.”

The silence this time is weighted with unspoken words and soul deep regret. “Three, two, one. Now.”

They smile. There. They can hear the Coral singing just for them. It’s calling to them, beckoning them deeper. There was no need for concern. No need to worry.

Their hands close around the sides of the Node. The sensation of being everywhere at once floods through them, their self floating inside of it. They call out, reaching for their people. They can hear Six, they know it.

“Please, speak with me?” they ask.

There’s something there. The others can hear them now, they must want to respond… So why aren’t they?

The song breaks, twists, a cacophony of sound that hammers on their mind. They try to scream but the red is in their throat. They try to reach out but the red is in them, and they are the red, and the red is all, and-

It’s like falling asleep and waking up hours later without realizing that you’d even slept. They’re somewhere they weren’t, hearing sounds they shouldn’t have been, in pain that seems to come from nowhere.

The pain is all consuming. It is like being torn apart by their very atoms, like an infinite number of tiny hands were pulling them in every direction possible and their body is trying to fight back even as their mind scrambles to stay intact. It cuts off as completely and suddenly as it had begun.

The scream erupting from their throat cuts off, their tensed body relaxing. They blink, dazed. They are… not where they were. They are high up now. Nearby, there are voices.

“What…?”

Six looks up. There is a group of humans standing there, guns pointed at… Six? One is bleeding heavily from one arm. The wounds look almost like…

A bullet strikes their thigh and they flinch. More of the humans fire, bullets striking the floor underneath them, hitting their already aching body. Training and instinct move their body. They shoot to their feet and run-stagger across the rooftop. Their leap is less a launch and more of a fall. They get lucky and hit glass instead of brick. Their ragdoll body hits the ground and tumbles across dusty carpet to strike a wall. It shudders but holds. They blink. Nothing feels real, even the pains sprouting across their body.

Their fingers, Typhon black and clawed, are covered in blood.

That man, arm bloody and torn by claws just seconds before.

Bullets, fired at the Typhon monster that was attacking them.

“Alex? What happened? _What did I do!?_ ” they cry.

“I…”

“No, no, no, I didn’t, I wouldn’t ever, I- I hurt people. I hurt that man. I… I…”

“That wasn’t you. That was- I don’t know what it was but you didn’t do anything.”

“It was my body! I might as well have hurt them!”

“You and I both know that that’s not true. Six, you didn’t do any of that. It was whatever was controlling you.”

“So what?! I let it do that! I was an idiot! I just had to keep trying to connect to the Coral! I was tricked by some pretty music, Alex, how is this not my fault?” Please tell me this isn’t my fault!

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know that the Coral had some kind of defense mechanism. You were the one being affected by it - I should have noticed sooner that something was wrong. It’s not your fault. You would never hurt anyone.”

“But I did.” Their vision is becoming blurred with tears.

“Six…” Alex doesn’t seem to have the words to comfort them. “Come back. Get to the garage and come back here and we’ll continue speaking.”

“What if I hurt someone else? I’m not safe.”

“Yes, you are. The Coral nullifier is active again and you’ve returned to yourself. Everything is going to be alright. Trust me.”

They push themself to their feet, staggering into the wall and leaning on it for support. They close their eyes. “Okay.”

“Go to the garage. Grace’s people are there to bring you back home.”

Six nods, then pauses as a nightmare situation occurs to them. “Alex? I… I didn’t kill anyone, did I?”

Alex replies instantly. “No. You had only just found the humans you saw when I started the ‘shock’. You hurt one, but he will be fine.”

They take a deep breath and close their eyes. “Thank God.”

Alex gives them a few seconds to collect themself before he prompts them to leave to find the garage again. This time they follow his instructions. Their Typhon skin shifts to mimic a human body once more. They edge around a few Mimics to reach the opposite side of the building they’re in and use a kinetic blast to break through the window there. Finding their way back to the garage is more difficult than it should have been. Their head feels like it’s been filled with glue and they’re drowning in it. Their body protests against movement, exhaustion dragging at their eyelids. A few blocks before their goal they nearly slam face first into a Cyst Nest. The Cystoids explode in their face and they crash into the cement. Alex’s insistent instructions are the only thing that get them up and moving again.

The garage is open when they reach it, the same vehicle they’d arrived in just driving out. They’re ushered inside and pointed to a seat. No one asks any questions, not about their blood that seeps into the seat, nor the tears in their uniform, nor the tears they can’t quite stop from leaking from their eyes. Six is distantly grateful over the horror, guilt, fear and shame burning inside their chest and throat. Kindness might bring down the barrier of unreality that is all that’s stopping them from breaking down completely. Alex isn’t speaking to them either, perhaps coming to terms with having created a new monster to terrorize humanity.

They don’t notice the streets flying past or the gate closing behind them. They do notice when the car comes to a halt outside of the TranStar base. They’re shocked to see Alex standing out front, arms held stiffly at his side, right fingers drumming against his thigh. He begins striding forward the instant he sees the car that they’re in. Six wants nothing more than to cram themself underneath the seats and never come out but the rest of the car has to get past them to leave and they know Alex doesn’t want to spend the rest of his afternoon trying to coax them out of their hiding space. So they get out of the car.

They duck their head and stare at their shoes, arms wrapped tight around their chest like they can protect themself from whatever Alex is about to do or say.

Gentle hands grip both of their arms. Alex’s voice is quiet, concerned. “Six, how are you holding up?”

They try to strangle the sob that comes from their throat, but it comes out as a whine instead. They shake their head.

“Oh, Six…” Alex’s voice is soft. Not pitying, not afraid. Just genuine worry for them.

Somehow, that hurts more.

They shudder and bite down on the inside of their cheek to try to stop another sob. Still, their shoulders shake with the force of it.

They can hear the sound of the guards who were in the car with them getting out. A few are speaking in hushed tones. Six’s shoulders hunch. They’re making a scene, embarrassing themself and making Alex take care of them.

They move to pull back and the hands on their arms pull them forward. Their fingers catch the fabric of the TranStar uniforms as their forehead hits Alex’s chest.

“Thank you for your services today. You may return to your regular positions.” Alex’s tone leaves no room for argument. The guards walk off, leaving them alone.

“There’s no one here but me. It's okay to cry, Six,” he says, much kinder than his voice when he addressed the guards.

Still, they shake their head. “I’m g-g-getting tears on- on your uniform.”

“That isn’t a problem.”

It is, but they don’t have the words or the willpower to explain why, even to themself. “I w-w-w-want to g-go back to my room.”

“I’ll take you there. Come on.”

They keep their head down as Alex’s arm over their shoulders keeps them close and guides them into the TranStar lobby. They don’t want anyone to see them crying.

“Alex, what on Earth are you doing?”

Catherine Yu’s voice is sharp and demanding. Six flinches, moving closer to Alex. His grip on them tightens.

“I am busy at the moment, Mother. I will have to reschedule our dinner today. I will make it up to you later,” Alex says, neatly stepping around his mother with Six at his side.

She doesn’t speak up again before the elevator doors slide shut behind the two of them. Six doesn’t say anything as they descend. Alex doesn’t either. But he also doesn’t leave as they walk together through the hallways and into Six’s room. He doesn’t say anything about the puzzle pieces lying on the floor or the general messiness of the space. Instead, he looks at them.

“How are you doing?”

“Bad.”

“That’s understandable. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Their body is hungry, still bleeding, in desperate need of sleep. In dire need of a magic shower that can clean the violated feeling from their mind. Instead of asking for help with any of that, they step forward and rest their cheek on Alex’s chest and wrap their arms around his back. They can hear his heartbeat, feel him breathing as he moves to hold them too. They’re crying harder now, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Hugs are even nicer than they’d thought they would be. Alex’s chin is rested on their head. He has one arm around their back, one holding onto the back of their head. His thumb smooths down their hair. It feels nice.

It doesn’t erase the Coral’s siren song from their head. It doesn’t fix that man’s arm. It won’t stop people from talking about the scene they’d made outside.

But it does quiet their thoughts, and that’s enough.

Their exhaustion eventually forces them to lean heavily on him for balance, but they refuse to let go even as Alex gently steers them to their bed so that they can sit down. They keep their face buried in his chest and try to shut out the rest of the world.

“As much as I’m sure you need this, you were pretty badly hurt,” Alex says. His voice is low, but sounds louder in the otherwise silent room. “May I call Mikhaila in to heal you?”

Their response is muffled by his shirt.

“I couldn’t hear you, Six.”

“‘S fine. Sorry.” For crying, for embarrassing you, for hurting that man, for making you brush off your mother to deal with me, for existing.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m going to call Mikhaila now, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Mikhaila arrives a few moments later. “Six! What happened!” she demands, moving to join the two of them on the bed. Six flinches at her volume and shrinks into Alex.

“Mikhaila. Please be gentle. I’ll explain later, but Six has been through quite a lot. Can you heal them please?”

“I- Yes, of course.” She’s quite a bit quieter now, radiating concern as she scans Six. She whispers a curse at what she finds. “You’re pretty badly hurt, but I can fix you right up. Six, can you move away from Alex so I can tend your wounds please?”

“Can’t.”

“I know you don’t want to, but I can’t help you like this.”

Six cracks open an eye to look at her. It feels like trying to lift an entire mountain. “Can’t sit up.”

“Six! Why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?” Alex asks.

They flinch, just the tiniest movement. “S-sorry.”

“No, sorry, I shouldn’t have- Let’s just get you sitting up.”

Six helps as much as they can, but in the end it’s mostly Alex who gets them sitting up and supports their body as Mikhaila heals them. The body wide aching goes from after effect of being drug along behind a car to second day after sprinting up a mountain. Mikhaila also heals the bullet wounds before offering them a nutrition bar. They stare at it dully.

“You need to eat,” she coaxes. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

They take the bar and open it, then crumple it in one fist. It’s absorbed a moment later. They hold up their empty hand to show her that they’d eaten it and Mikhaila shoves another one into their palm. Under her stern gaze they consume another three before she declares it ‘good enough for now’. Alex helps them to their feet and waits on their chair while she makes them take a shower. She works shampoo into their hair herself after they groan when she tells them to it. Her ‘fingers’ in their hair are relaxing once they get used to the idea of her being in there with them.

“There. Do you feel better?” she asks once they’re dressed again.

“Yeah.” They give her a tired half smile. “Thanks Mikhaila.”

Mikhaila hovers there without responding for too long before she says, “Right! Yes, of course, you are very welcome.”

“Uh? Something wrong?” they ask, looking at her in confusion.

“N-n-no… You just reminded me of, well, Morgan, for a second there.”

Their shoulders fall. “Ah.”

“Oh, no, Six, I didn’t mean-”

They wave her off. “Don’t worry about it.” Everyone’s thinking it anyways.

They walk back out to find Alex typing something into his phone. He puts it away as they approach and stands up.

“You look much better. How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Alright, all things considered.”

“What happened to you?” Mikhaila asks. “I’ve never seen you that badly injured before. Was it a Nightmare?”

“It was a nightmare alright,” they mutter. They sit down on their bed, legs still weak.

“What did you do to attract their attention?” Mikhaila asks, clearly confused.

Alex speaks up this time. “It wasn’t a Nightmare, Mikhaila. We were running a test that went… wrong.”

Six scoffs. “Nice way of saying I could’ve killed someone.”

:”But you didn’t. You are safe, they are safe, and everyone is going to be alright.”

They shake their head. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain, because I want to understand why you keep insisting on placing the blame on yourself,” he says.

“I… I hurt someone. A man. Not… he won’t die. I know that. But I could’ve killed people. I- I wanted to kill them,” they say, horrified.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes I did! I attacked them!”

“Do you want to attack me?”

“No!” they cry, every fiber of their being recoiling at the idea. “I’d never hurt you!”

“And if you met those humans now, would you try to hurt them?”

“No.”

“Of course not. That wasn't you, Six. That was the whatever it is that is controlling the Typhon. We already knew it wants to kill everyone. That it was using your body to do so changes nothing.”

“I should have stopped the experiment when I first started getting hypnotized by the Coral. It is my fault.”

“No it isn’t. You were under the Coral’s influence. You had no idea that the experiment was going wrong. I should have noticed sooner. You were behaving strangely, but I thought it was just the floating feeling you described before. I should have known better than to allow you to attempt contact that final time.”

“It wasn’t your fault-”

“And it isn’t yours either. In a few weeks that man’s injury will be healed and it will be as though it never happened. We made a mistake. We’ll learn from it and not let it happen again.”

Six wants to keep arguing, but they nod instead. The argument is exhausting. Being awake is exhausting.

Mikhaila must notice their struggle with their eyelids, as she speaks up a moment later. “I think it would be best if we left Six here to rest. We are preventing them from sleeping. I do not understand what you two were speaking about, but I know that they need to rest.”

Alex looks reluctant to agree. “I’m concerned that recent experiences have put them in a delicate mental state. We shouldn’t leave them alone, not after that.”

“Alex, I’ll be fine. Mikhaila’s right, I’m exhausted,” Six says.

Alex hesitates again, but moves to leave with Mikhaila. He turns when he reaches the door. “I can understand if you need time to yourself, but please send a message to January when you wake up. If you need me to be here don’t hesitate to ask.”

They nod and settle onto the bed. They’re asleep almost the instant that Alex turns off the light and closes the door.

 

Alex’s office. His computer, playing a taped video. The camera is unsteady, sometimes moving too quickly to get the full picture of what is going on. It rounds a corner and a flicker of movement is caught disappearing behind a building. The camera’s bearer falls to the ground to follow it. It rounds the corner to find a man calling out a greeting, stolen TranStar goods under one arm.

The man’s jacket is familiar. Gear typically worn by one of the more violent gangs that live in the wasteland near the TranStar America main base. The space between his shoulder blades where their symbol should be is empty. Twin Typhon limbs pierce the leather where it would have been. He’s dead in an instant, and tossed aside the next.

The camera turns as its bearer gets ready to leave. It swings back towards the man lying in his pool of blood as the door in front of him opens. A woman in a similar jacket steps out. Her stomach is just beginning to show the curve from the baby growing within. She’s smiling. The smile falls as she sees the man and his killer. Her hand does not reach the gun at her waist before a kinetic blast strikes her chest, throwing her off of her feet. The view blurs as the bearer of the camera phases forward. The woman falls to the floor, hands at her throat as she bleeds out. Her killer does not stick around to watch her death.

It climbs up another building and begins to look for more prey. Another group of humans, this time on top of a building. They must think themselves safe, high above even the spaces where Weavers tend to fly.

The killer launches itself over the edge of the roof. It lands and is met with a spray of gunfire. Half of the camera view is blurred by black liquid as the killer attempts to reach them through the bullets. The humans are shouting orders. They’re retreating down the stairs leading back into the building as quickly as they can. The killer reaches one before he manages to flee. Bloody Typhon claws lash out and score his arm deeply. A kinetic blast from behind him pushes his attacker back before it can do further damage. It reels back, then the view narrows as its eyes cross in pain.

It screams, and the sound is as chilling as it is pained. The view dips suddenly, and he is looking down at Six’s Typhon form as it curls in on itself in agony. The screaming cuts off suddenly, replaced by whimpers. Human voices speak in the background.

“What...?” Six asks.

More gunshots. Six flinches, shoves themself to their feet, and clumsily launches off of the rooftop. They crash through a window inelegantly and tumble across the floor. They lie there for several seconds, the camera focused on the legs of a chair. Their fingers, cruelly curved claws now lying limp on the ground before them, are bloody.

“Alex? What happened? _What did I do!?_ ” Six asks, voice full of fear.

Alex pauses the video and closes his eyes. He hates hearing their voice so full of terror, wishes he could take away that waking realization that their body had been used to do what Six couldn’t, wouldn’t, ever have done themself. Wishes he'd noticed before it happened, or hadn't at first mistaken Six's body being used as them fleeing from the Nightmares. Wishes they hadn’t asked for time alone to process. Wants to respect their wishes.

So he does the only thing that he can. The minute long chunk of video, everything from spotting the ex-gang member to leaving his partner there to bleed out and walking past his cooling body, is cut out of the recording. With a little editing it looks like Six had blinked instead of spotting the man, and in the tiny window leapt across the gap to the next building. The incriminating video is erased from the recordings. He deletes all memory of it from his files.

No one but he will ever know what Six’s body had been used to do in that back alleyway.

 

  
Catherine drums her nails against her desk, staring at the folder open on her laptop. Everything that makes that little beast what it is laid out in front of her. Weight, height, details of physical and psychological evaluations.

It was instantly drawn to her son. It responds well to requests when they’re given by Alex. He is one of the few people it has engaged in regular conversation with, and the one it had spoken the most to. There’s a note at the bottom of a sheet of observations stating that if they ever were to need to force it to do anything, the order should be given by Alex.

She sneers. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. People are drawn to her sons - of course they are. The two of them were the pinnacle of humanity, geniuses born and molded by her hand. Men and women alike wanted to know them, get close to them.

They were not worthy. So she made sure none of them succeeded.

This… thing, was no exception.

Catherine pulls up the report on the development of the experiments. Specifically, the section discussing the researchers involved. Igwe is a faithful dog, but she can pressure the others into silence after they’ve done what she needs.

That thing is not going to get to _her_ son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were curious, a half-drawn up draft of this chapter has Six’s body used to kill some of the TranStar guards, and they wake up right in the middle of one of them dying. So I mean in comparison, this is nicer. (I decided not to use that one mostly because I don’t think that Six would be able to mentally recover from doing that. At least, I couldn’t see it happening.)
> 
> Also, I like to imagine what this story would look like as a game (Akane Studios, hit me up), and since Six’s interactions with everyone are so important in Prey and here I think a mechanic where the player could choose to go for a ‘good’, ‘neutral’, or ‘bad’ Six would be interesting. I mention it because in my mind this would be the first time you’d see a major story change based on your choices. If you were mostly ‘good’ (essentially following Six’s choices here) then Alex deletes the video. If you were more ‘neutral’ or ‘bad’ then he would remove the video from easy access but store it in a separate file for blackmail later. 
> 
> I should note that even in the ‘bad’ route you wouldn’t really be able to kill any humans, which would result in an immediate execution. (At least, for now.) So it would be more along the lines of choosing not to save Tae-won, or leaving Belle to die so she won’t inconvenience you. Essentially if the game makes it clear that you can help and you mostly/entirely choose not to you’re going for the ‘bad’ end. ‘Neutral’ up to this point would be not trying to be friendly towards Alex and Lucien. So Alex would keep the video file because Six could be blackmailed into following his instructions since they might have trouble with other humans otherwise.
> 
> Also, and I'm probably just worrying too much but I have to ask, does the physical affection from Alex come off as anything other than platonic? I know a lot of the time physical affection is reserved for romantic partners but I really am trying to portray it in more of a friendly/familial kind of way. Hope it's coming off that way to you guys.


	6. Six And Offers You Can't Refuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was close, but look! I'm not dead

“Get up!”

Six starts, gets their legs tangled in the bed as they try to stand, and falls to the floor with an undignified grunt. They look up to search for the person speaking to them but the room is empty.

“January, what the fuck?” they ask, kicking off the blankets from their legs.

“Six, thank God- listen. We’ve been invaded by something. I can’t connect to Alex or the guards but I’ve unlocked your cell. Get out and find them, hurry.”

Six shoots to their feet, blanket falling to the floor with a soft ‘whump’. “Alex’s bracelet is broken?”

“No but he isn’t picking up and neither is anyone else. Look, just get outside and figure out what you can do.”

“Got it.”

The door to their room opens easily. The room beyond it is as always but Six catches the distant shriek of an emergency siren going off. They step into the hall and a flashing red light illuminates… a completely normal hallway. They frown.

“January, why isn’t anyone down here?”

“Emergency procedures are in place to keep people from being trapped down there in the event of a Typhon outbreak. You’re likely alone there. Get to the elevator. You have to find Alex.”

“I know, but how am I supposed to work the elevator if we’re in lockdown?” they ask, running through the empty red-black hallways.

“I have administrative access. I’ll open it for you. Just- ...M-!”

January’s voice cuts off with the sound of metal shrieking. There’s low, dark laughter before all sound ends.

“January? January!” they shout. “Shit! Shit, what the hell do I do now?”

There’s no one there to respond. Six peers around the corner nervously and spots nothing, not that the flashing lights provide a very good idea of the space before them. They run to the next corner anyways and repeat their test until they’ve made their way to the short space before the elevators. They see nothing in their way so they jog up to the doors and hit the ‘up’ arrow. The panel does not respond. The light flashes and they notice the bright red blood splattered across the closed doors and spilling out from underneath. They push the button a few more times, hoping that will change something.

“Fuck! Fucking hell!” they shout, driving a fist into the reinforced steel. They hiss, shaking out their hand as they look around. The flashing light paints the hallways in human blood.

Behind them, the elevator dings. They spin on their heel and it’s open, waiting to carry them to Alex. The bodies within have been torn apart as though by animals. Red blood is splattered across the walls and ceiling. There’s a large puddle on the floor, the same puddle that is leaking through to the other side. They dart inside before it can shut again and punch the button for the floor with Alex’s office. They don’t know what they’ll do if he isn’t there but it’s their best idea. They tense as the numbers approach their destination… and go straight past it. They snarl and slam a fist into the panel. It buckles and sends a sharp shock up their arm. They grit their teeth and thrust their fingers in further, hoping that they hit something that will stop this thing before they get much further.

The elevator shudders to a halt. They grin in victory as they move to pry the doors open. Instead, they part on their own. Behind them is the lobby that they’d waited in to meet with the TranStar Board of Directors. The walls are painted with a fresh coat of blood, splatters reaching up and across the ceiling. The bodies are indistinguishable. Just a mass of flesh and bone. They step onto the luxurious carpet and it squelches under their foot. They shudder and try not to look for familiar faces in the pieces strewn around them.

They can hear sounds up ahead but can’t yet make out what they are. They try to walk softly across the carpeting, but the wet sounds of their footsteps continue to follow them as they make their way out of the lobby and into the hallway that leads to the board room. The sounds, clearer now, are voices. One they recognize. Alex. They would run to him, make sure he isn’t hurt, but Alex sounds angry, distraught. The second voice is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It’s deep, masculine, and not quite… right. Whatever Alex had said to it is making its owner laugh hysterically. Somehow they don’t think it could have been that funny.

The laughter tapers off to uneven breathing. “Oh, boy, I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. Alex, buddy, you really think I can come back? After what I did? After what you did to me?”

“I… You asked me to do it! You said it was what you wanted!”

“Did I really? ‘Cause I don’t seem to remember asking you to put so much Typhon into my head that I fucking forgot I was human! Does that sound like what I wanted? Does it?!”

“Please, Mo-”

Alex’s sentence ends abruptly with a choked noise. Six runs the last few feet down the hallway and bursts into the room in time to see him hit the floor with a very final thunk. They don’t stop to take note of the figure standing across from him or the blood dripping from its claws. They race to Alex’s side. His eyes are open. They are also unseeing. There’s a hole in his chest where his heart should be and Six knows that he is gone. They blink, and tiny black drops land on Alex’s face.

“Alex…” Their words are strangled by the tightness in their throat.

“Awh, how sweet.”

They gasp, head snapping up. He looks just like they remember. Hair so dark it might as well be black styled carefully careless, sharp, intelligent brown eyes, skin the same shade as their own. Even the smirk that is slashed across his face is familiar. It’s the same smirk that face had worn when they saw Dahl laid out on the floor of the oxygen control room. He shouldn’t - can’t be here but they don’t doubt their eyes.

“Morgan,” they breathe.

Morgan claps slowly, sarcastically. “Good job, Six. You recognize your own face! Congrats.”

“No… No. You’re dead.”

“What, did Alex tell you that? You trust that ass? Christ, you’re dumber than I was.”

They look down at Alex’s slack face, the wound with flowing blood that has already slowed to a trickle as it leaves his body. They take a shuddering breath. “You did this.”

“Yup.”

They snarl at Morgan, a sound that rumbles from deep in their throat and doesn’t sound entirely human. “How dare you.”

Morgan just laughs, tears spilling down his grinning cheeks. He sounds very nearly hysterical. “What’re you so mad about? Is it because we’re brothers? You really think he gave a fuck about me? Or are you mad because I interrupted your little game of house?

“Fuck you! Of course he cared about you! Alex loved you, and he was obviously a million times the brother that you are!”

Morgan’s twisted expression clears as he stares at them. He looks like he’s trying to work through a particularly difficult puzzle. Shock overwrites his features and he leans back on his heels. “Wait, wait, wait. You didn’t have a thing for him, did you?”

“Of course not! That would be disgusting!”

Morgan’s smile this time could slice them in two. “Oh, no, no, no. That’s fucking rich. You didn’t want to date him - you wanted him to be your big brother? You wanted to replace me.”

Six hunches in on themself, tears falling onto Alex’s cooling face. They don’t grace Morgan with a response. He doesn’t need one. He cackles, howling in laughter.

“What, you thought some fucking Typhon freak could replace me? Trust me, Alex learned his lesson about trusting things like us after I left him with two bodies to clean up and a problem to solve in TranStar South. You think he was gonna keep you close when he locked me up in a cage? Right.”

“You killed…? Shit.” They’re only just beginning to realize how far Alex had gone to protect his baby brother.

“It isn’t like they mean anything. A few humans here or there, who cares?”

Six just shakes their head, unable to form a response.

Morgan makes a sound of disgust. “You’re like a fucking kid, it’s creepy as shit. Guess that would make it easier for them to manipulate you.”

“They weren’t…” They were, but it wasn’t their fault. Six is… scary.

“See? Brainwashed and you still can’t justify it. But you know what, Six? You’re not stuck here anymore. The remote is gone. The collar is useless. And I guarantee you I’ll be a better big brother than Alex. I know what it’s like to not know if you’re Typhon or human. Hell, I’ll even let you help me get revenge on these assholes for what they did to me. To us.

“They made you to be a monster. Doesn’t that bother you? Doesn’t it make you angry?

”Let’s get revenge for what they did to us.”

Morgan stalks closer until he’s hovering over Six as they hold onto his brother’s body. His hand stretches out towards them, palm up. An offer. Not the one Alex had given all those months ago, but something new. Something that might satisfy the part of them that grows ever louder as more and more humans reject their very existence no matter what they’ve done for them, no matter that Six exists to save them.

Morgan reels back, clutching his arm and the stump where his hand used to be. Six rises to their feet, Alex cradled in their arms. They step back, keeping a close eye on Morgan until they reach the back wall. They lower Alex to the ground there.

They straighten his glasses, brush some of his hair away from his eyes. “I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?”

“He’s dead, or are you too stupid to know what that means?” Morgan spits. He's still holding onto his right wrist with his left, blood dripping through his fingers and onto the floor. He looks furious. The anger in his eyes can’t match the cold rage that Six feels as they walk slowly back to the center of the room.

Their fingers hesitate, just for an instant. This is Morgan.

Then they remember the bodies littering the carpet outside. The corpses that the TranStar building was no doubt covered in. Lucien, his body likely decorating the walls. Alex.

They draw their handgun and fire. Three in the chest, two in the head, Sarah’s ideal spread. They don’t miss.

Morgan stumbles back as the bullets hit his chest, head just beginning to dip to look at the damage. The last two bullets strike him mid-forehead. His head flies back. His body begins to fall.

Then, it stops. Its shoulders begin to shake. Hands - hands? - curl into fists.

The blood dripping from the bullet holes in its chest looks like tar.

Morgan straightens up, grinning, blood running down his face from bullet holes that have already sealed. “You really thought that one was going to work? You think all the rest of them didn’t try to do the same thing?”

Six just stares in horror. “You… What did you do to yourself?”

Morgan shrugs. “A lot of shit. You expect me to remember everything Alex and I did to my brain? But he’s dead, and now so’re you. Gotta ask though. Who’d you think would win in a fight? A human turned Typhon, or a Typhon turned human?”

He doesn’t give them a chance to reply.

They barely get their Typhon limbs up in time to block his kinetic blast. A fist catches them under the chin and knocks them back. They lash out and connect with air only.

Their next punch is caught and their instinctual second attempt is met with the same fate. Morgan’s face is mere inches from theirs, and they can see the way that his pupils have grown to fill his irises. They’re evenly matched in strength but he has the advantage in leverage and he’s pushing them back.

They grin. They do not need hands to win this fight. Their Typhon limbs shoot out towards Morgan’s head, only to be met with his own. Caught off guard they nearly lose their footing before planting their feet and shoving back against Morgan with everything they have.

“I created you!” Morgan roars.

“Alex created me! You were-”

Hesitation makes them falter for just a moment, and Morgan takes advantage. He shoves them back, catching and tearing one of the Typhon limbs from their back. They kick him away and scramble back, warm wetness dripping down their back.

Morgan grins. “What was I? Dead? Do I look fucking dead to you?”

Neither of them move, eyes scanning the other for signs of weakness. Six’s mind races for something to use to their advantage. He’s the more experienced fighter, but the Typhon implants in his head have knocked something loose. His emotions are all over the place. Angry one second, crying in laughter the next. They have to use that.

“Oh, I get it now,” they say. “You’re not angry with Alex. You’re mad at yourself.”

“What?” Morgan laughed.

“Why wouldn’t you be? You failed, Morgan, and we both know how well you take failure.”

Morgan’s expression tightens. “I didn’t fail. You’re right there.”

“Sure, but you didn’t make me. Alex did. The only person you altered was yourself… and it doesn’t seem like that turned out very well now does it?”

“I’m stronger than you! I’m smarter, better than you!” Morgan snarls.

“And unstable. You couldn’t stop yourself from killing in TranStar South, or here. What are you going to accomplish like this?” Six looks him up and down scornfully, then scoffs. “The only thing you accomplished was making yourself even less sane than you already were.”

Morgan roars. The sound is wordless and primal. He appears in front of them with his fist drawn back for a strike. Six dodges, brings their own first up towards the underside of his jaw. Morgan catches it and misses their Typhon limb darting down until it’s wrapped around his ankle. They hurl him into the wall. The drywall crumbles, something deeper cracking but not giving way.

They’re there a moment later, two sharp jabs to his face and they feel his skull giving in. Typhon limbs tear his arms from their sockets. They ignore his shrieking and slam his head back into the reinforced bones of the building. It gives way under their hand and they feel something softer, almost gelatin like behind the bone shards. Morgan stops moving.

They step back and release their grip. He slumps to the floor, blood and brain matter seeping out of the crater in his skull. The damage is repairing itself as they watch.

The floor underneath Morgan’s feet heats rapidly. Spurts of flame erupt from their attack, burning him, flames eating away at his body too quickly for his healing to match. The air fills with thick, oily smoke. It smells like pork left too long on the barbecue. They can hear the fat in his body popping as it is incinerated. They do not know whether or not they hope he can feel what is happening.

Five grisly minutes later they stop renewing the fires and the ashes that are all that is left of Morgan settle across the once immaculate tiles. They nudge the remains with their foot, searching for signs of life and finding none. Something in them wonders if they should gather his ashes. Something else asks if they should not be more bothered by their actions. They had watched a man die, and they feel nothing.

Six takes one last look at what was left of the man who had once been Morgan. Turn, and walk away. Sit down next to Alex’s corpse. Try to ignore the tremors wracking their body.

There might be survivors. People in the halls and rooms of the building that need help, might die if they don’t rescue them. The board members could be out there. They’ll be needed to maintain the peace once people find out what has happened here.

They don’t care. No one would want a monster around anyways. They won’t leave Alex. Not now. Maybe… maybe not ever.

How bad could it be to die beside the one person who’d ever cared about them?

The world fades to black. For an instant, they think they’re passing out. It would be a welcome break from reality. Then it's grey and red, numbers shooting across a screen as the sound of a computer loading trills in their ears.

A brilliantly red box reading ‘LG V1.1’.

Blue.

Something dark coming up, away.

Blurry, all kinds of colors, predominantly white.

They blink, disoriented but catching up fast. They’re strapped to the same kind of chair that they’d first woken up in. The room around them is at least two walls of white nothing and one of clear glass like substance through which they can see humanoid shapes. They try to turn their head to see behind them but find it has been thoroughly bound to the back of the chair. Instead they strain their eyes to see the people through the glass.

Their vision clears. Most of the faces in front of them are familiar. A full ten guards, an Operator that looks to be for medical purposes and another that is unmarked. Catherine Yu, ignoring them entirely in favor of speaking with the man at her side. Alex looks as calm as ever. He’s addressing his mother like they aren’t sitting there, like they aren’t desperately trying to figure out what is going on.

“What’s going on?” they ask when nobody says anything to them. “Alex? What’s happening?”

Alex would tell them what is going on. Alex would have a reason that they’d needed to go through that simulation. Alex wouldn’t hurt them for no reason.

Alex spares them a glance, then accepts the paper his mother is holding out. He writes something quickly, then thrusts it back at her. Turns, then leaves the room without ever saying a word to them. She hands it over to a nearby Operator who also writes down a short note before returning it.

Catherine Yu isn’t smiling as she approaches the glass but Six gets the feeling that she would if she could remember how. “Release the restraints.”

The bands around their arms and legs unlatch with tiny clicks. They remain where they are, something deep in their lizard brain telling them that if they don’t move the predator eyeing them will walk away. She doesn’t.

She speaks again, looking at them but addressing those behind her. “From today onwards Experiment ABK-6 is under my control. Any concerns you may have regarding it or requests to enact tests will go through me instead of my son. I will be sending out an updated guide for all interactions regarding the experiment in the next few days that I expect will be followed to the letter. One of you guards will bring the experiment back to its cell. The rest of you are dismissed.”

As everyone else files out of the room the guards confer for a moment before one heads to the panel set into the door of the observation room they’re in. He jabs it with his finger a few times and the door opens.

“Move.” His voice and expression are cold and distant.

Six follows orders. They trail behind him as he walks to the elevator and nearly punches the button for their floor. As the numbers tick upwards he remains stiff and silent as a statue. He speaks again when the doors open.

“Get out.”

They step outside half expecting him to follow, but he stays where he is, expression melting from distant to angry the longer he looks at them. As the doors begin to close his hand darts out and blocks it just long enough for him to spit, “You’re an abomination against God and his angels. Rot in hell.”

They flinch at the venom in his voice but he never reaches for the gun at his hip or any of his better hidden weapons. The doors slide shut without any further comment on his part. Six stares at the doors for a minute before turning to find their room. Or their ‘cell’, as Catherine Yu had put it.

They jump when the many anti-Six weapons littered throughout the room come to life around them. The robotic voices declaring “Experiment Six identified. Shutting down.” follow them into their room. Inside they fall into their chair and bury their head in their hands. They’re shaking. Some part of them is still trying to justify what had happened, but most of them feels ill with shame, hurt, and an aching sense of having been abandoned.

They’d thought they could trust him. Thought that Alex saw them as a real person, as someone that might deserve to be treated fairly instead of signed over like some kind of object. Knew Alex must have a reason for what he had done, for leaving them alone. So what had they done wrong? Could they fix it? Would Alex ever talk to them again?

Had he really thought that they wanted to replace Morgan? Or was it because they were willing to kill Morgan? Because they hadn’t gone to save the other people in the building? Had it been the way they’d killed his brother?

Or, they realize, he was disgusted by the very idea of them seeing him as a brother figure. They are a monster after all. Not human. Never human. Just an sick abomination, a mismatched combination of his dead brother’s genetic code, his memories, and the very thing that had killed him. And the rest of humanity.

Who, exactly, would be thrilled to hear that something like them cared about him?

Morgan… Or the not Morgan that they’d made to torture Six, what had he called them? ‘Typhon turned human’?

Is that what they are? Just a human brain to pilot a Typhon body?

Their memories and Morgan’s blend, Typhon voices overlapping.

“They want to live inside us.”  
 _“They want to live inside us.”_

Humans in Typhon skin, claiming Typhon strength and abilities as their own.

Typhon piloting dead human bodies to create more corpses.

Six, stuck in the middle with the worst of both species inside of them.

Morgan, staring into the mirror with the whites of his eyes dyed red, things dancing on the edge of his consciousness that pull on his sanity and haunt his dreams. Knowing there’s an eldritch horror lurking somewhere in the universe. One that knows where humanity lives.

Their lips screw up into a snarl as they slam a fist down on the table. Something cracks as they shout, “Fuck off! You did that to yourself! If you regret it it’s your own fucking fault!”

They’re almost expecting a response. There is none, of course. They’re just as alone as they have been since they were created. Sitting here talking to some imagined illusion of a man drawn together from his scattered memories and their resentment. Imagining that there’s someone there, someone listening, that someone is speaking to them like an equal instead of a thing to be pitied until it got too annoying to handle any longer.

They shudder, digging claws into their scalp. Without Alex they don’t know what to do or who to turn to. They’d comforted themself by believing that Alex would protect them if it came down to it. Now they are alone. Powerless.

“Alex.” The words slips from their lips unbidden, a plea. “Alex.”

A final call for a pardon from one standing before the executioner's block.

Ignored.

The only mercy they get is yet another of Morgan’s memories pushing its way into their mind. Sinking into his life is easier than facing their own.

 

  
_Morgan jumps when Alex slams his hand down on his dining table. Alex is glaring at him over the top of his glasses. “Are you a child?”_

_“What? Alex, I don’t-”_

_“Understand? I know. You’ve never tried to. Have you ever considered that our parents have your best interests in mind? That not everyone is out to get you?”_

_Morgan gaped at him. “What the hell?”_

_“You complain about our parents and yet you have never considered their point of view! Does it ever even occur to you to apologize for your behavior towards them?”_

“I’m _supposed to apologize?” Morgan asks, incredulous._

_“Yes!”_

_“It isn’t my fault that they’ve always hated me!”_

_“Maybe if you were a bit more grateful for what the people in your life give up for you then they wouldn’t have to argue with you!”_

_Morgan’s breath froze in his chest, something cold and angry and vile rearing up to replace it. “Excuse me?”_

_“You cause your own problems, Morgan. It’s high time that you acknowledge that.”_

_His announcement was met with stony silence._

_Alex sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I meant what I said, but I shouldn’t have yelled. Sorry.”_

_Acid drips from Morgan's lips instead of words. “Nah, don’t worry. You really reminded me of Dad right there. Especially that time he locked me in my room for the whole summer because- Oh darn. What did I do again? Spill something? Drop a plate? Or maybe I just wasn’t quite living up to his standards when I had his perfect little clone as an older brother.”_

_“That isn’t-”_

_“No, no, you’re right! They only ever punished me when I deserved it, after all. I had opinions, I spoke back, I was never what they wanted. Let me go beg for their forgiveness for being me instead of you.”_

_“This is what I meant! You have got to stop acting like a child any time someone tells you things you do not want to hear!”_

_“Sure thing, Dad. What next. Are you going to send me to my room?”_

_“I am not like our father!” Alex roars._

_“You’re right. Dad wasn’t half as good at pretending he actually cared about me.”_

_His face contorts with rage. “You have no idea what I’ve given up for you!”_

_Morgan grins. “Ooh, yelling. What next? You gonna hit me like Dad used to too?”_

_“You know that I would never-!”_

_“Do I?”_

_There it was. A flash of pain in his brother’s eyes, hurt that struck at his heart. A sick sense of victory bubbles up in Morgan’s chest._

_“Really don’t know why I thought you were different,” Morgan continues, casual, unfazed as he approaches Alex. “I mean honestly, there’s a reason you’re the family favorite. But hey, we can’t all be fucking snakes now can we?”_

_Alex’s hands curl into fists. Morgan glances at them meaningfully and he immediately loosens them, looking guilty._

_“I wouldn’t- I wasn’t-”_

_“But you were thinking about it weren’t you. Just hit me and I’ll shut my mouth and play the perfect brother you’ve always wished that you had. Maybe I’ll stop dating guys, settle down with a nice girl that they chose, get a ‘real job’ instead of studying for the degree I actually want! Is that what you want?!”_

_“Let’s just drop it. Neither of us are in a good mood. We can talk about this again later.”_

_“Fuck off.”_

_“Morgan, I am not in the mood to deal with this right now.”_

_“Because I’m just a burden to you right? Someone you have to sacrifice your happiness for? Well, congrats! You don’t have to do it anymore.”_

_“What?”_

_“I’m out. Have a great fucking life Alex.”_

_“Morgan!”_

_“Do me a favor and don’t keep in touch.”_

_The door slams shut behind him, rattling the windows in their panes. Morgan ducks behind the first building he sees and takes off running, dodging down random streets that take him along a twisted path away from Alex. Eventually, out of breath and feeling sick in a way that has nothing to do with the exercise he calls an Uber and spends the ride trying to calm himself down. At home he pours a glass of the first thing he sees and knocks it back, coughing as cheap whiskey burns his throat. He pours more and tries to settle himself as he drinks it far slower._

_Control yourself Morgan. Don’t get angry. Don’t shout. No tears, if you show weakness they’ll go for your throat. No one is on your side. The world will eat you alive if you let it._

_No one can be trusted._

_He knows this. Has known it._

_Why would Alex be any different?_

_He knocks back the rest of his glass, alcohol burning his throat to join the surge of rage in his chest as he hurls the glass at the wall. It explodes into shards of glass. The anger dissipates as quickly as it had come._

_Morgan ignores the mess and pours himself another glass before sitting down at his computer and pulling up his school email. He quickly writes up some bullshit about a family emergency and asks for the Powerpoints, then copy pastes it and sends it out to his professors. It doesn’t have jack shit to do with Alex. He hadn’t wanted to go in anyways and he’d be damned before he went to class after passing out drunk the night before. He’s above that._

_He’s also above responding to Alex’s calls and texts. It’s only a week before his brother stops trying at all._

 

There are tears falling from their eyes. Black and viscous instead of the hot clarity of the ones Morgan had cried, but the emotion behind them is the same. Betrayal, shame, self-hatred that sends creeping roots into their brain. For a moment they aren’t sure that they’ve really left Morgan’s memories yet.

They wish he’d told them this sooner. Maybe they really should learn not to trust anyone. Maybe spending an entire night drinking was a better solution than crying themself to sleep.

“Don’t think alcohol would work anyways,” they mutter to themself. “Not human enough for that.”

They think they hear something outside and freeze, staring at the door. It doesn’t open and they relax after a moment, eyes flicking to their desk. They might not be human enough to fall into an alcohol induced daze, but they’re Typhon enough to very much want to hide as anything but themself right now. There’s a comfort in hiding in plain sight. Nobody would pay any attention to an extra pen on their desk. The Mimicking also eats away at their remaining energy quickly, and a while later they find themself struggling to stay hidden. They drop from their desk and roll under their bed instead. When they finally do run out of energy to Mimic their body expands to their normal size but remains mostly hidden by the bed. If they tuck their limbs in as close as possible they’re far enough underneath to be mistaken for a shadow.

Their eyes close, unable to stay open after they’d spent all of their energy on Mimicking. They fall into an uneasy sleep.

 

They’re woken up by an Operator entering their room. They catch a glimpse of it from under the bed and scramble to get out from underneath it in time to stop him. “January! I didn’t know- I didn’t think- Hey! Nice to see you! What are you here for?”

Their voice gets progressively less certain as they continue. January doesn’t turn to look at them, hovering in the doorway dispassionately. They notice the manila envelope on their desk and pick it up.

“What’s this?” they ask.

“I don’t know. You will have to read it for yourself.”

He moves to leave. “Wait! January, what’s going on? Did I do something to make you angry with me? If it’s because of the simulation I’m sorry. I… know since you have Morgan’s memories too it probably made you angry when you found out that I wanted Alex to be my brother but I didn’t mean to-”

“ABK-6. I am leaving. If you have concerns take them to the Board.”

They don’t manage to find their voice before he leaves. The door closing behind him feels like the curtain closing on a play.

They’re ready for another wave of pain, of hurt at the rejection of someone they’d considered if not a friend then at least an ally. They aren’t prepared to feel nothing. Not even surprise, really. If this is a play it isn’t a very good one.

Six opens the folder robotically. Inside is a simple set of orders. They’ll be joining the military Sweepers tomorrow, working under an officer whose name isn't stated. Something about the nearby gangs setting up traps and mines on one of the heavier trafficked streets outside the safe zone. There is a warning that the officer in charge of the operation would be given the remote for their collar “in case of emergency”. They were also no longer to use their false name nor the one they had chosen, but to “eliminate confusion” would go by ABK-6.

ABK-6. That is all they are. An experiment. A tool. A weapon. They were not to think, just do as they were told. No messy emotions. No attachments to people that don’t want to be in their life. No more pretending that they are a person.

The them from yesterday might not have been able to do that. The them now wants nothing less than to not have to make their own decisions. They obviously have no talent for it.

 

 

They’re woken early by the same guard from yesterday as he steps into their room and barks out orders. The other guard looks uncomfortable, although whether that’s from his fellow's short temper with Six or his loud tone is unclear. Six ignores it and follows orders. One idiot’s opinion of them didn’t matter. Not after yesterday.

They’re loaded onto the trucks with the rest tasked with removing the traps. The humans on both sides lean as far away from Six as the packed conditions allow. They come to a rumbling halt a short way outside of the walls, lined up along the largest and best maintained of the roads that lead out into the city. When they get out they can see the burnt remains of another truck not far from their position. They can still smell the burnt plastic in the air. Looks like that’s how they’d discovered there were traps in the first place.

It would have been easy to ignore the figure waiting for them. He was not a tall man, and his short hair and plain clothing didn’t immediately draw the eye. It was the tension in the air that drew Six’s attention to him, to the shining medals decorating his shirt. Only one man that they were aware of wore that many, and they’d heard about him only in the books written after the invasion. Anders Madsen, the man who’d lead the very first of the large scale efforts to drive the Typhon back long enough to build walls capable of keeping them out.

Some people say that he’s humanity’s guardian, an angel clad in human skin. Most whisper behind closed doors and wonder when, exactly, the madness in Anders’ eyes will be turned on what he’d once protected. Anders’ actions during the initial invasion saved lives, yes, but they also endangered them. He was reckless, angry, so eager in his desire to turn his destructive nature on the Typhon that he risked humanity to do it.

He wore his accomplishments on his skin, criss crossed with scars and burns. He wore his reputation in the way he carried himself, the near predatory look in his eyes. Eyes that had Six pinned to the floor with fear like spiders crawling under their skin. They are far from the only one shrinking away from the aura of intimidation he carries. They are likely the only one whose eyes fall and catch on the smell remote at his belt.

They look up and his eyes drive straight into their soul. They’re frozen under that gaze. Anders’ expression does not change as his fingers drop to the remote and a tiny spark of pain runs across the flesh underneath their collar. A warning. Or, possibly, a threat. His expression gives nothing away.

 He's not the one who divides the crowd into groups, but no one questions him when he and several of those with him move to join Six's group. The job is simple enough, finding stones or aiming kinetic blasts at the traps to set them off safely. For a few hours, they manage to convince themself that Madsen had only joined their group to keep an eye on them.

Eventually, someone spots a figure darting away to hide between two buildings and Anders sends Six to investigate. They almost miss him, scrawny as he is. Just a human child, staring up at them with wide eyes under dirty hair.

“It’s just some kid,” they say.

Anders appears at the other end of the alley. “Then kill it and get back here.”

“What?” They had to have misheard.

“For fuck’s sake,” Anders says, stepping into the alleyway, “I said kill the kid, now get it done.”

“Absolutely not!” They’re up and blocking his path to the boy before their rational mind can catch up, but when it does they hold firm.

Anders’ eyes flash with sick satisfaction. The smile that isn’t on his face shows in his voice as he says, “Refusal to obey an order is a serious offense.”

They flinch when his hand drops to the remote and he soaks it in, enjoys the fear he knows is clamping down on their chest. They glare at him. “Kid. Run.”

The boy takes off running away from the both of them. Anders lets him go. It was never about him anyways.

Bracing for the pain doesn’t make it any better. Six grinds their teeth as their knees give out and they fall to their hands, forehead pressed to the grimy cement as pain lances through their body. It isn’t the worst pain they’ve felt, not yet. They won’t give him the satisfaction of screaming and begging like he wants them to. It vanishes and they gasp in air they don't need.  
“Young. You see a kid?

“That’s him. Kill him.”

Six scrambles to rise but barely regains their feet before a gunshot echoes through the empty streets.

They howl, launching themself at Anders. He steps aside and the pain that lances through their body prevents them from doing anything but staying where they’d landed. When he finally turns the collar off they stay put, shuddering.

“That was stupid,” Anders says, casual.

They grunt.

“But according to our reports, you aren’t,” he continues. “So. Why’d I do it?”

“Because you’re a sadistic bastard,” they spit.

“And?”

Defiance boils in their veins as they shove themself to their feet. Anders is standing there, waiting for an answer they don’t have. The sadism in his eyes reminds them of Dahl, that same barely reined in desire for power and destruction.

“Power,” they mutter, wheels spinning in their brain. “You want to prove that you have power over me.”

Anders laughed. “Girl, you’re supposed to be smart. Did you really not know you’re a nobody, and I’m humanity’s savior?”

They do, of course. They still think that was a part of it, but… “You’re in total control of the people under you. They’d do anything you say without question.”

“Better. Why do I care that a nobody knows that?”

They search for answers and find none. From his tone the answer is important, not simply that he likes to show off his power. “I don’t know.”

“You’re a weapon with no master. Cathrine thinks you’re only good as Typhon parts or in the secret offsite labs. Nobody’s gonna try to stop her. You stay here, you die.”

They know that already.

“Or you join the Sweepers. Nobody under me gives a fuck what you are as long as you pull your weight and I’ll let you do whatever your little Typhon heart wants. Kill some of the leeches in our streets, we can’t keep letting them dirty our cities. Make a fuckin’ army of Phantoms. You already know the kind of shit we get away with in the name of the greater good.”

They stare at him, speechless.

Anders walks past them, adding over his shoulder, “Cathrine’ll give you to me either way. Its up to you whether we just shoot you once we’re out of the city.”

The rest of the day passes without incident, but their mind is not so peaceful. Their head spins with his words, trying to fit this new information in with what they’d read about, but the books were all wrong.

Six had been wrong.

Anders didn’t just enjoy pain, was not as simple as Dahl. This was a man with a twisted moral code and ambitions too grandiose to be restrained, given the backing of the single most powerful group on Earth.

And they were a monster with no other options.

 

The next day goes just about the same as before. Fewer traps. They’d found and disarmed most of them yesterday. They’re about to be sent home early when four of the trucks suddenly explode into flames. An hour and a lot of useless shouting later the bomb squad has recovered enough shrapnel to declare that the explosion was caused by bombs made of whatever could be found among the remains of the city. They announce that it was most likely done by a nearby group of cultists since they’ve used the same type of bomb before. Everyone walks home and as far as Six is concerned the ordeal is over.

The morning after no one delivers more instructions so they spend most of their time trying to nap or staring at the wall with one of their many distractions in hand. They hold little appeal. The words don’t hold the same mesmerizing pull as before, now lifeless and dull. Their fingers stop moving on the Rubix cube when they don’t mean for them to, the block puzzles fall from their limp hands as their mind shuts off after only a few minutes of attention.

Eventually they give up and shut the lights off. They pull the blanket off of the bed and shove it into the corner underneath before crawling in after it. It’s soft. Sleeping is still hard. They end up trying so hard not to think that their mind jumps to the exact subjects that they’re trying to avoid.

Six must fall asleep at some point because they wake to the sound of their door crashing into the wall. They flinch and try to shove their body further under the bed.

“I will fucking-! Six?” Lucien curses. “If you’re not here, where the hell are you?”

They can see his shoes beginning to turn back towards the door and they’re moving before they can really think about it. Lucien looks at them in confusion as they emerge from under their bed.

“The hell were you doing under there?” he asks.

Six begins to respond, hesitates, then just shrugs. “Not important. Why are you here?”

He doesn’t look convinced but he lets it go, expression darkening. “To apologize. I didn’t know Alex had signed you over to Catherine or I’d have been here sooner. I just wish I knew what the fuck he was thinking. Assuming he was thinking.”

“Wait, you didn’t know what happened? Aren’t you in charge of some squad for him?”

“Yeah, that’s why this is so weird. Something’s up.”

“Couldn’t you just talk to Alex?” Can you ask him why he hates me?

“He normally updates me every day or so and I haven’t heard from him in four days. I think he might be avoiding me. And with good reason, I’ve got a fist with his name on it.”

“Won’t you get in trouble for hitting him?”

Lucien shrugs. “Probably. It’s not important right now. Catherine give you any orders afterwards?”

“January brought them by a few days ago.” They notice Lucien’s expression sour at the mention of the Operator. Why would he be angry with January? “I’ve been working with the Sweepers that came to the city.”

Lucien goes from stunned to furious in a heartbeat, swearing fervently. “Tell me your commander isn’t Anders Madsen.”

“It is, but I don’t understand-”

He’s no longer listening. “That dirty, conniving, filthy bitch, when I get my fucking hands on Catherine Yu I’ll-”

“Lucien! Stop!” Six shouts, hand on their collar like that will stop it from sending his words straight to Catherine’s ears. They point to it with their other hand in the hopes that Lucien will stop and think his words through for God’s sake they don’t want him taken away too-

Lucien just laughs darkly. “Six, I know you’re wearing the collar. Bitch’d better be fucking listening to me, I’ll tear her-”

“Are you insane?! Are you trying to get fired?” Six demands.

“Alex is the only one who can do that and he’d be fucking stupid to do it. I know too much.” Lucien stops speaking, expression hardening. “Speaking of. That fucker had better damn well keep out of my way because I swear to God next time I see him he’ll be lucky to get away with just a punch to the face. Fucking Anders Madsen, Christ almighty he’s gone insane.”

“You’ve lost it. You’ve lost it and you’re going to be killed,” Six says in horror, dropping their head into their hands.

“What, you really think if they can’t see me cussing their royal highnesses out they won’t get pissy?”

“What?”

“The contacts. That’s why you’re doing that, right?”

“Of course not, why would I be wearing those?” How did we go from treason to contacts?

“You know what, not important.”

“Why-?”

Lucien cuts them off hastily. “Six. Madsen is trouble. He volunteered to leave the military and work for the Sweepers. You don’t do that unless you’re looking to die or you like killing people. He’s the latter. If he’s here it’s to kill somebody. If you’re working with him you might be a part of that.”

They decide against mentioning the child. "You think he'd make me kill people.” Their mind unhelpfully brings up the memory of blood coating their claws and they shudder.

Lucien looks sympathetic but resigned. “He might. It helps to remember that they want all of us to become Typhon chow.”

“Right.” Why does anyone need to die?

“I’ll see if I can get assigned to work with Madsen. I won’t be able to do much more than have your back out there but it’s better than nothing.” Lucien sighs, pained look on his face as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Right.

  
Lucien hugs them suddenly and they freeze, body locked between fleeing and returning the gesture. His fingers pry theirs apart and pass a folded piece of paper over. His other hand claps over their mouth as he pulls back to look them in the eye. He releases their mouth and presses a finger to his lips, then points to the slip of paper they’re slowly strangling and again makes a gesture for silence. Their confusion must be clear on their face, as he repeats the gesture until they copy it. He nods and steps back.

“I’m sorry I can’t be here longer but I’ve got work to get done. You going to be alright by yourself?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Right. See you later then.”

“See you.” They try not to make that sound like the question it is.

Lucien’s expression is apologetic as he turns to leave. The door slides shut behind him and they look down at what he’d given them. A single sheet of white paper folded into eighths with the short message ‘Don’t read this out loud’ written in hasty, looping handwriting.

They frown. What could this paper say that Lucien hadn’t been able to tell them just now? Cautiously curious they unfold it and begin to read. Silently, because they’re not always terrible at following directions.

 

Hey Six. I probably freaked you out when I dropped this off. Sorry. I couldn’t come up with something better fast enough. You’re probably also worried now so don’t be. They aren’t watching you in here any more. Alex had one of our guys loop some of the old footage weeks ago to look like you’re being recorded even though you aren’t. He was supposed to tell you that, but here we are. Hopefully I remembered to double check that you aren’t wearing your contacts. If you are, stop reading this and burn it before anyone gets there to confiscate it.

I’ll be honest. I don’t know what kind of game Alex is playing. His mother is batshit but he’s never given in to anything like this before. I’d ask him what’s going on but I haven’t seen or heard from him in days. Probably because he knows I’d gladly give him a real close up look at my fist.

I want to believe that he’s got some kind of grand plan here that’s worth what he’s done, but this feels off. He didn’t even tell me that he’d made that simulation. January didn’t mention it either, and he usually keeps me up to date on Alex’s major decisions. I can’t ask Igwe or the other researchers. They’d report back to Queen Bitch. She could be forcing Alex to do this somehow but I don’t know what she would’ve found to get him to do this.

The woman that the world would be better off without put out a memo to everyone that we’re all to call you Experiment Six or ABK-6 even if there’s someone there who doesn’t know that you’re the Typhon-human cross. Be careful. There are people on the guard who’d love nothing more than exposing you. Same notice also told us that we’re all supposed to ignore you unless we’ve got orders for you. They can’t prove that I’ve read it yet so I’m not really disobeying direct orders by doing this. January’s probably fuming, but he’s got no choice but to obey or they’ll reprogram him. I’m guessing you know that would be bad. So, sorry from him through me until he can tell you himself.

I’m going to have to follow orders as of officially reading the memo, but if you need me I will do my best to be there. I don’t know what kind of orders Alex will have sent out to the rest of my team so you can’t contact them. Don’t go to the Operators. Their audio feeds are automatically filtered for banned words and phrases and they won’t be able to do you any good before they’re shut down. I think you already know it but don’t go to Alex. Neither of us can trust him right now. If you need immediate help and I’m not there go to Grace and tell her I’m calling in my favor from her. She’ll help you and tell me what’s going on so I can be there.

Also, don’t worry about whatever I said. Mother I’d Love To Strangle knows I can’t stand her, she’d be more surprised if I hadn’t cussed her out. I know how to toe the line with her. They won’t send me away unless I disobey a direct order. Can’t really, since I’m technically employed by Alex, not TranStar.

I’ll figure a way out of this mess for us both. In the meantime just know you’ve got people on your side. You already know that you’ve got to follow their orders. The next time you see me I’m going to have to ignore you so be ready for that. If I know more I’ll slip you another paper. Also gonna need you to burn this one once you’re done reading it. I guarantee you there’ll be someone going through your stuff sooner or later so if you have anything else you don’t want people seeing either burn it or keep it on you at all times.

I’m out of things to say so I guess I’ll end this here and go throw a fit in your room. Sorry about that again. Never said I had good ideas.

Hang in there.

 

They finish the note. Reread it, even though they’ve memorized what it says already. Set it very carefully on fire in their sink and hope that ashes don’t clog drains as they scrub the scorch marks away before they go back into their bedroom and sit heavily on their chair.

So. Things are about as they’d assumed. At least they know that January doesn’t actually hate them now.

Lucien is on their side for whatever reason. They think that should probably make them happier than it does. Mostly they just feel empty. Like there’s a hole in their chest, something vital gone missing.  
.  
What would Lucien say if he knew they were considering taking Anders’ offer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read my other major work you'll know I've got severe depression. Both dysthymia and major depressive disorder and both are pretty debilitating. I don't want to get into it but these past months have been shit for a variety of reasons. Spring's a bad time for me.
> 
> Hopefully I'll be seeing you all with a new chapter soon, but I won't make any promises.


	7. Six. Is. Fine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title; Panic! at the Church
> 
> No new trigger tags for this one.

It's times like this that Six wishes they had a heart. Then there would be something to listen to that wasn't the brush of a dead wind over a dead city. Something to break the tense silence as they wait for their signal to begin. Instead they settle for pulling blades of grass out from the cracks in the sidewalk and tearing them into pieces.

Their mission isn't exactly difficult. They wouldn't have to spare it a second thought if the only order they'd been given would just stop bashing into the space behind their eyes.

The real kicker is that they’d been given these orders just like all of the others from Catherine. Dropped off by a silent January with all of the pomp and circumstance of delivering junk mail.

They’d read the page a hundred times, like that could change the words printed there - also, why bother having it printed? With resources as scarce as they are how can TranStar afford to waste them on things like this? - but, of course, it didn’t. It didn’t change the short letter attached to it either.

 

_Prove that you’re worth it_

_\- A_

 

They’d think it was his cocksure confidence speaking if they didn’t know he’d reached the obvious conclusion days, possibly weeks or months before they had. Six has no option but to turn to Anders. They need to move to somewhere outside of the public eye, need to prove themself, need to get out from under Catherine Yu’s thumb.

They need to join the Sweepers. The thought is strangling them just as their orders are attempting to blow holes in their head.

“ABK-6. You have permission to begin.”

They nod, but there was no response necessary. Six doesn’t need to agree to anything they’re doing. They just have to do it.

The blades of grass slip through their fingers as they stand.

They aren’t sure if the cultists are geniuses or idiots for choosing the home they had. The church is a towering half gone monolith, stained glass shards sending rainbows cascading up the grey stone. It’s nowhere near secure, but there are more places to escape than there are walls and enough space to maneuver easily. Typhon thrive in enclosed spaces - charging straight for your enemy doesn’t work as well when your enemy can see you coming, but sheer physical power can compensate for a lot when they were pinned in one spot.

So it could have been a good plan on their part. Or maybe they just like the aesthetic.

They can see people in bulletproof vests walking through the glass and the gaps. Roughly fifteen, all carrying one of an eclectic collection of rifles and shotguns.

They get close using a combination of Mimickry and patience. The human positioned on the precarious remains of the second level never gets close to noticing them, too busy scanning for threats in the air. They press flat to the wall under him and creep up until they’re close enough to snake a Typhon limb up to his neck. They wrap it tight around his neck and another grabs his gun before it can fall as they drag him off of the brick. They get a glimpse of his face and wish they hadn’t - his eyes bug out of their sockets and his lips are beginning to go blue as his fingers bloody his own neck but fail to remove their stranglehold. They freeze when his eyes meet theirs. He looks frantic, desperate. It should be a wild, animal look but it isn’t. It’s the look of a fully aware being silently pleading for his life. They want to beg him for forgiveness, understanding.

Instead they kill him with a swift dagger to the heart and watch as the blood drains from his body and the light in his eyes dies. They raise him back up and onto the shelf he’d stood on in life. They push themself over the lip of the wall and creep past the corpse they’d created.

“I count seventeen,” they whisper.

“Ten-four,” one of Anders’ people replies.

Anders’ people begin firing a moment later. Within seconds most of the people below them are at full attention, more flooding out of the stairway leading to the underground crypts of the church. Six adds to the confusion by firing a GLOO gun at the more competent ones. A few manage to make it back underground, while a couple find spaces that Anders’ people can’t get to and drive Six to fall flat to avoid their bullets. Chips of stone fly into Six’s face and they hiss. Humans make for more of a challenge than Typhon.

The sudden crack of breaking stone is all the warning they get before their platform is tilting, crumbling underneath them. They fall with it, lucky to avoid the worst of the collapse. Six staggers out into a hailstorm of bullets. They fall flat behind a pile of rubble and let Anders’ people pick them off through the new gaps in the walls. One manages to get behind their barricade, heavily wounded and bleeding everywhere. They throw him back with a round of kinetic blasts to his chest and he doesn’t get up again.

The broken church reeks of acrid gunpowder and death. Six reports back that the guards aboveground are taken care of and is told to proceed. They remove the pack they’re carrying and take out the turret pieces, fitting them together a quickly as their fingers will allow.

“You could use backup,” Anders says suddenly. “Why not make some Phantoms?”

They grit their teeth and refuse to respond. There are some lines they’re not willing to cross.

Their eyes catch on the blood on their hands and they feel sick. Lines they’re not willing to cross yet at least.

They swallow the nausea and finish setting up the last of the turrets. They toss the little canister back and forth in their hands as they consider the set up. It sails over the stairs and the clatter of thin metal on stone starts the second phase. Two more join it and Six waits. The screaming doesn’t take long to start.

They move when they hear the turrets begin to fire. The gas - for all intents and purposes just an extra strength pepper spray - doesn’t affect them, but the humans didn’t stand a chance. They grab ahold of the first one that runs into them and snap their neck swiftly. The next one hears the bone grinding and fires in their direction, missing by yards. Six fires back with far greater accuracy. It’s as easy as Anders had predicted for them to wipe out the rest of them with the humans’ eyes watering as their faces swell, their air passages on fire, lungs rebelling at the tainted air. With the humans staggering as they are Six picks them off with only a few wounds in return. The last one falls, tearing their Typhon limb from his back as he does so.

Farther away they can hear sporadic gunfire as Anders’ people keep the Typhon that come to investigate the noise at bay. They mount the stairs and bring a couple of the turrets down with them, placing them behind the corners nearest the exit.

The underground area of the church had obviously been long in disuse before the Typhon arrived. It smells of dust and mildew, creeping decay in the roots that have broken through the stone. They step over a few scraps of yellow caution tape and past buckets and other repair tools as they creep further in. They jump at every sound - mice and rats scurry and squeak all around, but they had yet to encounter any humans that they hadn’t already killed until they discover the crypts. Rows of stone coffins with plaques that had once shone proudly surrounded by statues of angels and humans they assume to be saints. The stone guardians stare on lifelessly as the intruder slinks past.

They’re nearly to another gateway when gunfire comes from behind. They tuck and roll behind one of the statues, hearing pieces break off as it’s hit. They pick off the shooters one by one as the humans poke their heads up for a few moments too long to take aim. Some of the bodies carry extra bullets that they stash away for later use.

They round a corner and a heavy body slams into them, knocking them to the ground. A knife flashes in their periphery and they knock it aside, slashing their arm in the process. They tear the human’s throat out with their claws as the blade skitters across the floor. They kick the body off in time to be stunned at the sheer lack of accuracy as at least two gun wielders miss them from just twenty feet back. Kinetic blasts knock the shooters off their feet and back into the herd of humans behind them, knocking people over with shrieks of panic. The fire that bursts out of the floor catches some and sends the rest scattering. They pick off a couple with bullets before several more charge at them with improvised weapons. They dodge a nail studded baseball bat and take a solid blow to the side with a two by four. They grab its wielder by the head and slam their skull into the wall. Another kinetic blast handles the one on the floor. They grab another man and hurl him into a wall with a wet crunch.

Blood and entrails mix with the decay on the floors.

They chase down the rest of the group and discover the few who remain have backed themselves into a corner. They freeze at the sight of Six, who takes advantage. There is more screaming, more fire, more blood. One man tries to strangle them when they take aim at his wife. They punch holes in his abdomen and, when he falls off, leave him to die. The woman raises weak arms like she’s never thrown a punch in her life. Six hurls her into a wall headfirst and deals with the other two quickly. They glance over at a movement to their right.

The woman isn’t dead. Concussed maybe, but her eyes are trying to find them, her lungs still heaving. They’re about to finish her off when sharp pain sprouts in their shoulder. They spin, snarling.

Looking back at them over the shaking hands that had been holding the revolver currently crashing to the stone floor is a small child. Maybe eight years old, her brown eyes blown wide, her heels up against the stone wall. She’s shaking, crying, scrambling to pick up the gun, to fight the monster killing her family.

And that monster’s first thought was that they should save a bullet by snapping her neck.

They’re already moving before horror sets in. This is a child. They are seconds from _killing a child_.

They gasp, jerking back as three bullets find a home in their chest. They drop their handgun, falling to their knees mostly due to the surprise, but the girl assumes they’re dying and rushes past them. They hear her drop to her knees, begging for her mom to be okay.

Something turns their head. They watch the kid sobbing, her mother trying to tell her to run but unable to form the words. The mother’s arm is thin. Not a muscle in sight, and there are too few scars on her body for her to be a trained fighter. Her husband is the same. Slowly, Six looks to the rest of them and their head is spinning, clawed fingers digging into their chest. They see bandaged limbs, thin long-grey hair, faces too young to belong to anyone older than twenty, all of it covered in blood and burns and fire.

These were just regular people. People who’d probably joined the cultists because they needed the protection. People who couldn’t have fought back against them.

People they’d slaughtered without a second thought.

They shove themself to their feet and stagger back on the path they’ve marked with blood. They pick up speed as they pass the remains of more people, dead eyes following their flight accusingly. By the time they burst up into fresh air even the immediate burst of gunfire aimed their way can’t stop them from springing up and out of the church walls. They land badly and tumble hard into the short wall around the rooftop.

Their body expects them to be reacting in ways that they can’t. Heavy breathing, a racing heart, a rebelling stomach. And since their body can’t, there’s a heavy sense of wrongness layered over the wet and sticky blood on their skin and in their hair, nothing to distract them from the racing thoughts and images burnt into their mind. They can recall everything in vivid, painful detail, down to the way that their blood splattered across the stone.

They bite their arm to silence their tears and reel back, mouth flooding with the metallic taste of blood that they can’t spit out before it’s absorbed. Their teeth sink into their lip instead, fingers winding into and pulling at their short hair. This isn’t what they wanted. None of this is what they’d wanted.

A snide voice reminds them that the dozens they’d just murdered had probably thought the same thing.  
  
“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

They start, scrambling for a gun they’d left behind. When they realize it’s just Lucien they relax for a second before they go rigid, staring at him because they know what he’s seeing. A monster, a Typhon covered in the blood of innocents.

“The first time’s always hard,” he says, and they don’t understand why he sounds so sympathetic.

They can’t keep looking at him so they bury their face in their hands and hope he’ll go away on his own. Instead they hear a quiet grunt as he clears the gap between their buildings.

“Hey Six. Rough day?”

There’s humor there they know he’s not really feeling. He’s trying to get them to react to him, but there’s no room for anything but the hurricane tearing their insides apart.

“Mind if I take a seat?” He takes their lack of response as ascent and sits next to them slowly, giving them time to get away if they want to. He doesn’t say anything, just a calm, steady presence at their side.

Eventually they have enough presence of mind to ask, “How can you just sit next to me?”

He ignores the breaks in their voice. “Pretty easy, actually. Lots of room up here."

“You know what I meant.”

“Then I’ll answer with a question - I know, bad form. How many people do you think I’ve killed, Six? It’s definitely more than the four dozen or so back there.”

They shake their head furiously. “It isn’t the same!”

“Really?”

“Yes! And I don’t- I don’t know why, or how, but I- I killed- I-” Six chokes on the words.

Lucien sighs heavily. “I always forget how young you are.” Callused fingers take theirs, holding them tight. “It isn’t your fault, Six.”

“It is, it is, _it is_ -”.

Lucien pulls them to him and they bury their face in his shirt like they can hide from what they’ve done.

“You had to follow orders.”

They mean to tell him that that was the problem, because that meant they could have to do worse things but that also wasn’t the problem because really, Six could have chosen to disobey and die if they weren’t such a coward. They want him to hate them as much as they hate themself when they tell him they hadn’t just done it, they’d even almost sort of enjoyed it. They want him to know they’re sick, and twisted, and he should just kill them now and spare the world one more monster it doesn’t need. They want him to tell them they’re not a monster. What comes out is a strangled jumble of phrases and whines, but Lucien seems to get the gist.

“You’ve got a lot of human in you. We aren’t always the good guys.”

A near silent sob escapes them.

“It’s okay. You did what you had to. You’re not a bad person, Six, I swear. You’re better than most, even.”

They keen, clutching at his shirt with fingers that aren't claws anymore but are still red with the blood that they're caked in. Lucien doesn't notice or doesn't care. He whispers reassurances, lets them cling to him like he's the only thing keeping them from falling off the cliff of despair they're teetering on the edge of. His fingers rub reassuring circles on their neck. They think they'd be enjoying that more if everything could just stop being awful for a bit.

“Six, are you ready to leave TranStar?” Lucien asks softly.

They barely hesitate. They nod.

“Good thing I prepped then. I’ve got friends nearby who think they can get that collar deactivated and they’ve got a spare disruptor for you too. I wasn’t planning to move today, but it’s as good a day as any I guess. C’mon. The longer we’ve got the better our chance.”

He pulls them to their feet and keeps ahold of their hand as he points out across the city. Leave it to Lucien to know they needed the physical reassurance someone was there for them. “TranStar can still hear and see us, so we’re meeting up at that apartment building to get that fixed. You can ditch the contacts once you’re a little ways from here. Sound good?”

“Yeah. Thank you for this. I know it’s risky.”

“Just as risky to stay at TranStar right now.”

“Right. Thanks though.”

He snorts and messes up their hair. “No problem. Let’s-”

Lucien’s eyes darted to the side, widening, but he was nowhere near fast enough to get down before the bullet struck his chest. He falls and Six makes to catch him in time for violent pain to tear through their body and shred their mind. They collapse, writhing and screaming. They keep trying to claw at their neck but their body is just barely holding together as is and their fingers barely manage to tug at the cloth.

Then the pain gets worse, and they can’t think of anything but it. It’s all consuming, but if they could have a conscious thought it would have been that the remote's settings couldn’t possibly go any higher.

It does, and almost instantly they black out.

They wake up back at the TranStar building shackled to an examination table. It’s only a few seconds of trying to figure out why their whole body is heavy and pulsing with pain before they shriek in fury as their memories return. They manage to bust their restraints, but it only takes the military Operators a few seconds to turn on their collar and recreate the events on the rooftop.

They wake much slower the second time, head aching and room spinning. They know where they are, know why they’re there, know that their only ally had gotten himself shot - hell, he could be dead for all they know - trying to save them. They understand that. What they don’t get, but are honestly too hurt to think much about, is why they’re still alive. They’ve proven a defective weapon. They let their emotions take control and left some of the cultists alive - not that they’re under any illusion that they’d survived Anders’ people afterwards. Just more senseless slaughter to add to the day.

They drift in and out of consciousness, but they’re awake enough to register when the Operator enters the room, if not quite aware enough to register that it’s Mikhaila before they feel the familiar tingle of her scanner.

They try to say her name but it’s a mangled mess and she can’t reply anyways. They lift a hand and note that they’re in their Typhon form as they wave at her weakly instead. She grasps it as best she can without true hands while she evaluates their health.

“You are recovering, albeit slowly,” she finally says. “Another attempt to escape will likely see your death.”

They nod.

“Can you eat?”

When they affirm that they can, they’re fed more of the nutrition bars. As it heals their body actually manages to start hurting more for a few moments. They wince.

“Are you experiencing pains you weren’t before?” Mikhaila asks instantly, too quickly for the level of detachment she needs to project.

They find their tongue and manage, “‘M ‘kay.”

“No, you are not!” The outburst doesn’t surprise them, nor does Mikhaila’s much softer tone when she speaks again. “You are fortunate that you passed out when you did. Much longer and your body might not have been able to recover. It would serve you well to be more cautious in the future.”

It was as much kindness as she could offer without disobeying. Six tries to smile before they remember that Typhon can’t. “Thanks.” The word is slow, halting, and painful, but they want her to know they appreciate it.

She leaves a few minutes later without speaking another word to them. They close their eyes and are almost instantly asleep again.

A few days of treatment later they’re knocked out with some medication or another and when they wake up again they’re in their room. They suppose that means that Catherine still has some use for her defective weapon.

They don’t know why she needs them alive for now, and they don’t want to know.

People come in and out. Six ignores them, for the most part. They don’t even really take note of them, since all but one are unfamiliar to them.

They didn't stir as the door opened. A dim part of their mind registers that the intruder is Quinten, but they don't have anything to say. He doesn't try to talk to them either, although to be fair he is under orders not to. They're just not willing to put in the effort it would take to remember how to move their mouth.

He collects samples of their blood, eyes downcast. The thin veneer of professionalism can't hide the stress in his eyes or the stiff set of his lips. He looks worn thin and haggard.

They wonder how they look until they remember that they look like any other expressionless Phantom.

He rests his hand on their shoulder for just a second longer than necessary before he turns to leave. They strangle the tiny, fragile part of themself that feels broken at the gesture.

They do feel a tiny shock of surprise when January enters their room not two days after they’d been sent back to it. They watch him as he places the usual manilla envelope down on the table and turns to leave. They speak before they can think to stop themself.

“Is Lucien okay?”

January barely reacts, but the little jolt that rocks him when he registers Lucien’s name is enough to fuel Six’s fear. Surely that shot hadn’t been lethal? Or… They wouldn’t have executed him for what he’d done, would they?

Except that they might. Conspiracy, attempted theft of TranStar property, disobeying direct orders - that might be enough to merit death in their minds.

Luckily - unluckily? - they don’t get long to think on that. Just minutes after January left - without answering their question, but they hadn’t thought he could - the speakers crackle to life.

“You are as pathetic as I was told. Like a mutt left behind by its owner.”

They don’t think they can be blamed for the visceral reaction that they have to that voice. For the way their body recoils, crouching on their bed, ready to leap away from its source, Typhon limbs springing from their back tense and coiled. No, after the last time they heard Catherine Yu speak, they don’t think their instant fear is unreasonable.

“Read the mission orders. Now.”

They obey wordlessly. Read the single sheet of paper wordlessly, let numb fingers drop it back to the desk wordlessly.

ABK-6 was to go out on its own, find a spot in the middle of the city, and wait. Three hours after it departed at three, its collar would be turned off.

Six was being disposed of.

“You are too stupid to know why I have ordered your death, aren’t you, ABK-6.”

They’re too stupid to do anything but stand there frozen, really.

“My son stands at the head of the leaders of humanity. He cannot afford someone like you depending on him. Humanity cannot afford to keep the weak around, and you have proven time and time again that you are weak. You are a liability. Completing this mission will be the only worthwhile thing you have done.”

The speaker turns off with a click that rings with finality.

This is it. It was done, and it was over, even if they hadn’t yet left the building. They’ve outlived their usefulness, or, if Catherine’s right, they never had any to begin with.

Still, there’s a growing voice in their head that wants to know why she’d chosen this particular method. She was very clearly hiding the real reason for their death, but why? They can’t find an answer that seems plausible.

They don’t need the shove of Morgan’s memories into their consciousness to finally realize why Catherine Yu hates them so much. They’re too close to Morgan for comfort. Alex had given things up for Morgan - lost opportunities or valuable time to devote that attention to making sure Morgan knew he cared - and he’d been doing the same with Six. She’s probably right that humanity can’t afford for him to have that weakness. At least this time around he’d realized it before Six had caused a second mass wave of Typhon deaths to follow Morgan’s.

They can feel Morgan’s old guilt mixing with the confusing mass in their gut. There’s a sadness in knowing that Morgan believed his family would have been better off without him, would have been happier if he’d never existed. They can relate.

At the same time, they wonder if he’s right.

It doesn’t take them that long to begin feeling guilty for just accepting defeat. If nothing else it was an insult to January, Mikhaila, Danielle, and Lucien’s efforts to keep them alive. The slow burning anger in their gut won’t accept it either. Who cared if Catherine Yu was right and they were an unnecessary burden? What, exactly, did they owe to her or Alex? For that matter, why would it be a bad thing for the top brass of TranStar to disappear entirely? It didn’t take any kind of skill to keep people in line using fear. Hell, anyone could do that.

They take a seat, bury their head in their hands like they’re despairing, and their lips split in a manic grin. They’re not a good enough person to be martyr. They can handle living for revenge.

 

 

The guard that comes to get them is the same one that screamed about angels and God. The smug grin on his face as he barks at them to assume their human form tells them that he at least knows exactly what’s happening. When they get to the gates to the outside they can see by the conflicting emotions on the other guards’ faces that they too are aware. Some of them look guilty, others angry, one or two even sad. They’d be surprised by how few of them look as victorious as the one walking Six towards them if they could be bothered to care. What does catch their attention is the group not far off, surrounding the Jeeps marked with Grace’s phoenix instead of the ugly TranStar logo. The faces turned towards the little group waiting for Six are full of curiosity and suspicion.

Six looks away as the gates begin to open to reveal the city that’s supposed to be their grave. They try to keep the apprehension off of their face as they walk past the guards and leave the safety of TranStar’s grasp. They can’t resist the urge to look back at the safe zone, at the space that they’d called home ever since they woke up. The gates close, locking them outside. They flinch at the finality of it all before shoving everything they’re feeling as far down as they can and beginning their trek across the rubble. They fend off a Mimic before leaping up to climb their way to the top of the nearest building. They don’t look back as they take a running jump off of the roof, further into the city.

They stop a few minutes later on a roof that gives them a nice, clear view of the safe zone and drop their pack before falling down themself.

They don’t know where Lucien is. Hell, they don’t even know he’s alive. January, Mikhaila, and Danielle all had their metaphorical hands tied. There’s no one else on their side, but Lucien had said that Grace owed him a favor. One significant enough to hide a hybrid from the all powerful corporation looking for them.

Unfortunately, Grace was inside the safe zone. Her people and their vehicles wouldn’t have been parked there unless she was with them. Sure, Six could start running and hope that they got far enough outside of the city in three hours to find somewhere to live where the Coral and the Nightmares couldn’t find them, but even they’re not that naive. They’d been out on the open ocean and everything was still thick with Coral. The chances of finding a space without it were slim to none. No, their best bet was that Grace would leave the official safe zone and enter her section of it before Catherine turned off their collar.

In the meantime, they have no purpose. Their mind goes to the same place it has been for almost a week now.

Alex and the heavy weight of their longing to go back to how things were.

They close their eyes and try to recreate his office. Their footsteps near silent on the cushy carpet as they walk back to his bookcase to slip the biography they’d just finished back in with the rest. Bright yellow-white and gold light streaming in from the windows, the same light that’s shining from the world beyond their eyelids. Cleaning chemicals overlaid with the faint scent of reconstituted food. His voice as he speaks to whoever it was this time that needs his attention. Their fingertips are resting on a history text they’d enjoyed immensely, but the heavy weight of the wrongness of their desire is ruining their fantasy.

Their eyes slide open and they curse without feeling. They can’t recreate the sense of ease they’d felt with Alex, not when he had left them, not when Lucien was who the hell knows where, possibly being punished for trying to protect them from Alex’s inaction. Not when the burning question of ‘Why?’ lays hot and thick on their tongue.

It isn’t that they haven’t made their peace with Alex’s abandonment. It really isn’t.

Alright, so maybe it is. They’ve spent the last week trying to figure out what he was thinking, what it was they had done or not done to have lost his favor so quickly. They wish they could just ask him why he’d stopped caring.

And if he’d never cared? If it had all been an act? Then they want to hear him say it himself.

They sigh, sitting up, rubbing absentmindedly at their collar. It wasn’t as though this train of thought could take them anywhere. Nothing Lucien could have done would be equal pay to sneaking Six back into the TranStar America building, and without Grace’s help they don’t stand a chance.

Their thoughts turn to the people they’ll never see again. They like Mikhaila. She’s nice, gentle and soft and kind even though they haven’t earned that. It might just be misdirected affection for Morgan, but they would genuinely miss that kindness. Danielle was a lot of fun to spend time with and she had more games than they’d seen anywhere else in the building. She wasn’t exactly patient with them, and sometimes she made them a little angry when she gloated over her victories but they wish they’d gotten the chance to say goodbye anyways. Hell, even January had grown on them. They’ve come to realize that they really only disliked him because he disliked Alex. They’d apologize to him for assuming he was being unreasonable if they could.

It isn’t until they realize that the heat of the day is beginning to fade that they blink away the memories and sit up. They’d left at three. The sun shouldn’t set until just after seven. So if the sun was setting now, their time should be up, but when they tug on the collar at their neck it’s just as firmly attached as ever. They frown. What kind of game was Catherine Yu playing?

They catch something in the corner of their vision and snap up to look. For a minute, they can’t figure out what has changed. Then they feel cloth and metal slipping from around their neck, catching for an instant on their clothes and dropping to their feet. They hiss in a gasp.

TranStar America is dark, even in the dim light of the setting sun. The lights that should be shining out towards the city are gone, even the looming main TranStar building unlit. The border lights and several floors of the main building flicker back to life almost immediately, but even several minutes later electricity hasn’t returned to the majority of the populace.

They feel electricity run through the collar as it reboots. When they connect the ends, it's impossible to tear them apart without also wrecking the collar. They can't hear a Nightmare approaching, but the pause had certainly been long enough for the Coral to note them so one would be on its way already. They had to move.

The sudden explosion from the TranStar building jolts them out of their thoughts. The smoke is dark and oily as it floats out of one of the top story windows.

They frown. Could that have been caused by a simple power outage? Or was something more going on? Surely this hadn’t been Catherine’s doing?

The military’s gate watchers are visibly unsettled, people running around in panic. A concerning sight, since the chaos would make it that much easier for someone to slip in unnoticed. Especially someone that most of the guards would recognize. Someone that the automatic weaponry probably hadn’t been reprogrammed to recognize as an enemy yet. Someone who is willing to risk their life if it means answers.

The collar bites into their palm as Six gathers themself and takes a running jump back towards the safe zone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is like half the length of a usual chapter and I'm really sorry for that. I ended up cutting a few things just because I realized they weren't right for the story and the next chunk of it really needs to be told as a single, solid chapter so I couldn't really add anything after I got rid of those parts. Still, I really hope that you enjoyed it.
> 
> For anyone curious, my working title for the next chapter is "Six, Please". So it's absolutely certain that nothing will go badly. Obviously.
> 
> Although I will say that something a few of you have asked about will be addressed/happen in chapter eight! I'm looking forward to it.


	8. Six, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been hearing requests for at least one of the things in this chapter. Hopefully it's somewhat like you all were hoping for
> 
> Chapter TWs - Body horror, religious fanaticism

Sneaking back into one of the last remaining strongholds of humanity is easier than Six had imagined. They just pick one of the many bricks littering the ground to Mimic and roll their way through the other debris until they reach the shadow of the wall, then place their hand on the scanner there. They’re ready to have to leap away from the wall’s automated defence, but after a moment the scanner dings, the gates opening. The soldiers there barely spare them a glance.

The rest of the safe zone is in various states of chaos. The citizens are clearly scared, gathered in small groups, words hushed, looking to the few TranStar employees moving through the streets for guidance they don't recieve. Six gets a few glances but isn’t spoken to until they reach the main TranStar building. The smoke is thinning but still thick, billowing out of the gaping hole in the side of the building. It looks to span a few floors near the middle of the structure.

They rock back and forth on their heels as they think. The building is a good forty something floors above ground alone, most of which they haven’t been to. Ignoring whatever crisis might or might not be going on inside, Alex could be on literally any of them. If he were hiding out on the executive levels they’d never get to him. The security system would be too well enforced up there.

“You're not supposed to be here,” a sharp voice says.

The speaker is one of the older guards, staring at them with a carefully blank expression as they nearly jump out of their skin. She looks vaguely familiar.

“I guess not,” they agree.

A few more seconds and she sighs, expression turning weary. “How'd you get back in?”

“Snuck through the wall.”

“We're damn lucky the Typhon aren't as bright as you.”

They're surprised by the almost compliment. “So what happened? I mean, there was the blackout, but why the explosion?”

“Don't know. We were all outside of the building when it happened and now that they're in lockdown it's near impossible to get in. I can tell you this though - something's not right. Even in lockdown we should be getting orders, and we're not.”

Six glances up at the still smoking hole in the side of the building. “How does the lockdown work?”

“Pin pads shut down, elevator's out of use and the shaft has steel doors every other level, more steel doors on important things like labs, stairs, and executive offices. Turrets will be up and running. The underground levels will be blocked off from the rest of the building by three layers of reinforced steel floors. Only people who can move around at all are the ones with access level E-8 and above, but if you go in through that hole you shouldn't have too much trouble.”

They look at her sharply. “Who says I'm going in?”

“Don't play games.”

“Are you planning to stop me?”

“No. We can't get in - if anybody's going to fix this it’ll be you.”

'Fix this’? For a second Six is about to ask what she means, and then they realize - no one has any idea what they're actually doing there. It was unlikely that Anders had shared what their mission was or how they'd failed it. Without that information no one would think to question their loyalty to TranStar. Or their loyalty to Alex.

“Do you know where Alex will be?” they ask. There's a dark sense of satisfaction when her next words are sympathetic.

“Like I said, we haven't got any word from inside yet. Based on his usual routine he’ll be somewhere on the three above ground research levels on floors thirty three to thirty six.”

“Thanks.” They peer up at their destination, then look around that the other guards and soldiers. “Can you tell them not to shoot me?”

“Yes. Take this,” she says, holding out a silver card.

Six eyes it warily. “Why?”

“All pin pads require special codes in combination with the cards to gain access. You want to get anything done you'll need it.”

They do, turning it over in their hand nervously. “Won't you get in trouble?”

“Probably. Get going.”

They shrug and turn to leave, but she calls them back. She tells them to stay put and jogs back to the rest of the guards, returning a few minutes later with weapons. A handgun with extra ammo, a GLOO gun, several grenades, and a switchblade.

They don the gear and instantly feel more prepared. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Good luck.”

“Thank you. Hopefully I won't need it.”

“You will.”

They accept her ominous words and set off. It’s a little strange to be climbing the TranStar building like this, but if they ignore where they are it’s really no different from what they’ve been doing. Get to where they need to be, do what they need to do.

They reach the outer edges of the explosion and haul themself up and over the melted windows. Even on the outskirts of the blast zone the damage is evident. The smoke is thick in the air, just barely obscuring their view. There are no bodies here, not this far away, but they know that somewhere on the floors above people have died, are possibly still dying. When they see no one in the offices they walk through they realize that everyone who could must have evacuated to the safe rooms scattered throughout the building.

They bring their collar to their lips and say, “Call Mikhaila Ilyushin.”

A short dial tone, then, “Unable to connect. An error message has been sent. Please try again at a later time.”

Six sighs. It had been worth a try, at least.

They’re almost to the stairwell when they hear distant gunfire. It’s coming from below them, not above. They hesitate for only a split second before they leap down the stairs, clearing entire flights at a time in their haste. Could someone be fighting the person - people? - who’d caused this chaos in the first place?

The closer they get to the sounds of battle the hazier the air gets, smoke working its way up from below. They swing down to the third floor landing in time for the door to slam open. Humans in technician suits push past them, fleeing to the upper floors. The floor beyond them is a wreck. Smoke floods the air from the gaping hole in the center, sections of the floor caving in under the pressure to join the rest of it wherever it leads. As they watch a trio of Mimics scurry up out of it and vanish into the haze. A group of guards are shouting instructions to the remaining technicians as they fight off Phantoms. One goes down as Six charges onto the battlefield, and they push another back with a kinetic blast. If the guards know who Six is they don’t say anything.

More Typhon crawl up out of the pit as the guards get people out. Six gains them some time by chucking a grenade down, but they’re still forced to give ground as they’re rapidly outnumbered. Six presses their borrowed key card into one of the guards’ hands as they start their retreat. They’re one of the last to go, backing up towards the exit when fire consumes the four of them. They stagger away, batting fire from their clothes, going down when something hits them with a blast. The Mimic that tries to take advantage of the situation is tossed aside in time for their attacker to move into sight.

“Oh my god,” they whisper, staring up in horror.

It’s like a person turned inside out, muscles clenching and writhing like worms as it stands above them. The wet slithering of its insides across its surface is a sick mimicry of the flow of Typhon skin.

The floor under their hands heats and they roll out of the way as a plume of fire erupts from it. The thing tries to tackle them and they lash out, knocking it back with their Typhon limbs, then dragging razor sharp claws across its torso and arm. Unlike the Typhon this thing clearly feels the pain, reeling back with its uninjured hand to its chest.

The blood is dark enough they could convince themself it's black if it weren’t for the scent of it, coppery and thick. It drips from their claws, except it isn't black anymore, it's red, and the room smells like mildew and dust, and the corpses they'd left behind them are staring, eyes wide and blank, and somewhere a child is crying over her dying mother and, and, and-

Even their suddenly malfunctioning mind can’t prevent them from noticing the sudden explosion from below. The entire building shakes, dust and chunks of ceiling falling down. They look over to find the stair doors sealed shut, two of the guards’ bodies smoking beside it. The third is nowhere to be seen. The floor is shifting, clearly about to cave in, and before they can think better of it they back away from their opponent, towards the hole in the floor. A series of loud cracks nearly sends them to their knees as a wide section of flooring loses its grip and falls into the pit, taking them with it.

It hits the ground and they fall to their knees on top of it. They look frantically for their next enemy and find none. The floor is unfamiliar to them, and when they look up they see the pit cuts through multiple floors. The top is obscured by smoke renewed by the most recent explosion. It looks to be coming from a few floors above them. There’s fire flickering to their left, heat pouring across their skin. The stairs lay beyond that fire wall.

They suppose they could just climb out the way they'd come, but the idea of running into that fleshy thing again sends ice through their limbs. Instead, they pick themself up and take the right hand path. They run into only two Mimics in five minutes, a miracle considering how many seemed to be flooding the building. It only takes a minute or two to start seeing the red arrows painted high on the ceilings. They point to the nearest safe room in case of an emergency. Useful if they have to flee, but not helpful in their mission to find Alex.

They reach a large room that is surprisingly normal looking despite the chaos elsewhere. There's a heavily fortified examination table set in the center and spacious, sectioned off observation rooms to either side. The only thing out of place is the Phantom standing motionless in front of the glass near them. It's looking at something they can't see, hidden by desks and other furniture.

The Phantom, distracted as it is, is easily dealt with. They step forward to speak to the person it had been staring at and their blood curdles. Alex Yu is curled into a ball on the floor, fingers sunk into his hair. It’s such a bizarre sight that it takes them a moment to find their voice.

“Alex.”

Alex starts, looking up. Relief spreads across his face as he leaps to his feet. “Finally! I thought there was no one else down here! You’re here to help me, right?”

They snarl. “Why should I, exactly?”

Alex gapes at them. “Because… I’m Alex Yu?”

They scowl. “No shit.”

“That means you have to help me! I can give you a promotion, money, anything you want!”

“What the- Alex, what are you…? Promotion? I don’t even have a job here!”

“You… don’t?”

“Do you not recognize me or something? It’s only been a week!”

“I- I’m sorry, I don’t know you?”

“Of course you do!” they snap.

Alex flinches back. “N-n-no! I mean, I think- Um. I don’t know, but I woke up here, and my head hurts and I don’t know where I am?”

“So what, you’ve got amnesia?” they ask, incredulous.

“Yes! That.”

They’re about to call bullshit, but something makes them stop. He really doesn’t seem to recognize them, and he’s acting nothing like the Alex that they know. Was it really possible? “Fine then. I’ll help you, just let me in.”

“No. No, I don’t trust you,” he says.

“Alex. Let me in,” they demand.

“No!”

They snarl, eyes raking the observation rooms for an entrance. Their eyes settle on a vent and Alex shouts after them as they stride away. The screws give easily enough with their switchblade as a makeshift screwdriver and they slip inside, thankful for the flexibility of their boneless form. They shimmy through the venting until they reach the entrance to the room Alex has hidden himself in. A kinetic blast takes care of the vent and they drop inside, a shrill and frankly uncharacteristic shriek greeting them.

“It’s me,” they huff.

“Leave me alone!”

“No. Get the hell out here you coward.” When he doesn’t move, they growl. “Now, or I drag you out of there.”

There was a short hesitation before Alex rose to his feet, staring at them with wide eyes. They look him over for injuries and find none. Certainly nothing that would result in memory loss, and his eyes look clear and fully aware. In fact, he looks better than they’ve seen in a while. Almost like he’s lost the haunted look that years of strain and loss had put on him.

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

“What’s your name?” they ask suddenly.

“You just said my name! Alex! Alex Yu!”

“How much of your memory have you lost?”

Alex glances away. “Um. Everything after the Typhon attack on TranStar is a little fuzzy.”

But he isn’t acting like the Alex from the TranStar simulation. “You had an argument with Morgan years ago that both of you refused to apologize for and you didn’t talk for years. What was it about?”

“How- ?”

“I’m asking the questions here.”

“I’m the one in charge! I’m the CEO!”

Six pinches the bridge of their nose. “Didn’t you just say you can’t remember anything past the Typhon containment breach on Talos One?”

“Yeah, but I was CEO then too! That hasn’t changed?” His voice clearly says he isn’t actually sure about that.

They don’t respond. A tiny idea has taken root in their mind and they can’t seem to get it to leave. They stare at him for a few more seconds before they lift one hand and allow their human disguise to peel back. When he just stares at them in disbelief they revert fully to their Typhon form. Bizarrely, he looks _happy_.

“You’re not Alex,” Six says.

“I’m not alone,” not-Alex breathes.

Not-Alex closes the gap between them in an instant, hands coming up to grasp their shoulders, and they very suddenly don’t have to look down to meet the eyes that the other no longer has. Not-Alex radiates joy as they stand there in their Typhon form. They're lankier than Six and just an inch or so shorter.

“You’re like me! I’m ABH-3,” ABH-3 says.

“Six.” They're speaking almost on autopilot, mind somehow both short circuiting and hyper aware.

“Six? Isn’t that a number?”

“Yeah. I was ABK-6 until I decided my name was Six.”

“Huh. I wonder what the letters and numbers even mean,” ABH-3 mused.

“‘A’ is for Alex, ‘B’ followed by a letter tells you the order we were made in, and the number’s just there because there are a few attempts in each batch. So I’m Alex Batch K number six. Or in your case Alex Batch H number three. Which means… you’re older than me.”

“Really? I’ve only been awake for about five hours now. So when did you wake up from the simulation?”

“I… It’s been almost three months since I woke from the Talos One simulation.”

“Then how… Oh.”

Six nods, numb. ABH-3 had to have been finished before them and set aside after for some reason. “So why’re you awake now? Shouldn’t you still be stuck in the simulation?”

“I failed the simulation a few hours before all of the doors on my floor opened. Then the power went out and came back, but the doors didn’t close again. Things started blowing up so I booked it up here and hid.”

“Wait. You failed the simulation? How?” Six demands.

ABH-3 takes a few quick steps back. “I didn’t- I don’t- I was scared, okay?”

“Yeah okay great. What exactly did you do in the simulation? Give me a summary.”

“I got out of the fake room, met January-”

“No, no.” Six sighs. “I mean, how did you escape?”

“Oh. I used the escape pod. I mean, the entire ship was filled with those things, what the hell was I going to accomplish by staying? Alex should’ve handled his own mess instead of trying to shove it onto me!” he says defensively.

Six laughs darkly. “Yeah. He’s got a habit of doing that.”

“One of the Operators said I hadn’t killed any Typhon I didn’t have to like it was a bad thing. I saw those things kill people and drink their - what, their brains? Yeah, no thanks,” ABH-3 shudders, glancing around the room like talking about the Mimics would summon them.

Six drums their fingers on their thigh, thinking. ABH-3 - they hate using that for a name. “Hey, do you have a name? One that isn’t ABH-3.”

“Morgan, but that isn’t my name, is it?”

“Not really, no.”

“I could just be Three?”

“Do you want to be Three?”

“No?”

Six grits their teeth, trying to pull together whatever scraps of patience they’ve got left. “You should pick a name that you actually like.”

“How do I do that?”

Ugh. “I don’t know. Maybe decide if you want a human name or not?”

“I’d be okay with a human name,” ABH-3 says consideringly.

“Okay, and?”

“And?” ABH-3 tilts their head to the side questioningly. “Oh! And I should pick a name. Duh.”

“Yeah.”

A few seconds of silence. “Um, could you help? Please?”

“Sure.” Anything to speed this up. “What kind of name are you looking for? Something gender neutral like mine?”

“No? Why would I want it to be gender neutral?”

That piques their curiosity. “Well, I’m not a man, or a woman, so I don’t want people assuming either before meeting me.”

“Oh. Oh yeah! That’s a thing. I’m okay with people thinking I’m a man though.”

“But are you?”

“I guess? Yeah, why not?”

“Then you’ll want a masculine name. Like… Henry? Or Edward?”

“I guess those are okay?”

They sigh. “It’s a name. It’s important. Pick one you actually like. I’ll keep thinking, okay?”

He nods, lifting a hand to his chin in a very human gesture that is very out of place on his Typhon form.

Six runs through every name they can think of and discards them, then digs deeper. The idea that comes to them is somewhat ironic, but they think they like it.

“What about Arthur?” they ask.

He startles and asks them to repeat themself. “Arthur? I guess I kinda like it.”

“Good! Great, okay, that settles that?” they ask hopefully.

ABH-3 hesitates. “I guess? For now at-”

“Glad to hear it Arthur. Now, are you ready to go outside?”

“No way! I’m safe here, why would I go out there?”

Six groans. “Because you’re not safe? I got in, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but you’re you.”

A brilliant observation, they think dryly. “Right. You can Mimic, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Pick something small and easy to carry and I’ll bring you with me like that.”

“What if you forget me somewhere?”

“I won’t.”

“You could!”

“Than pick something that I can’t lose!” they snap. They regret it an instant later when Arthur flinches back like he’s expecting to be hit. “Sorry. I just- It’s been a really long day- or, well, week, really - and I should probably hurry.”

“It’s fine,” Arthur says instantly. “Where are you hurrying to? Or should I not ask?”

“No, I should probably prepare you. I’m looking for Alex actually. I… I need some answers from him.”

If he notices their hesitation Arthur doesn’t say anything. He just nods, scanning the room before zeroing in on their hand. “What about that?”

He’s pointing to the collar. They’d much rather not wear the damn thing, but if it gets them back on track, “Fine.”

A perfect replica of the collar falls to the ground, rolling over to their feet. They pick it - him? Arthur? - up and seal the clasp behind their neck. A few minutes of rummaging later they’ve picked up some food and a few things that will make for good supplies once they find a recycler. It’s a familiar action, searching for the things they need instead of having them handed to them. The Talos One simulation had been a simpler time.

Something about that thought bothers them as they unlock the door and walk back out into the operating room. It’s the operating table that finally makes them realize what it was.

They’ve been in simulated worlds twice now. Both times they hadn’t known it wasn’t real until it was already over. How could they know that any of this was real?

They pace the floor as they try to draw parallels from the two experiences. The end goal of both was a test of Six’s reactions to what they were told and what they put together on their own. But then where would this simulation have begun? When they’d passed out that second time after the fight at the church? Or maybe before that, when Anders made his offer? How did they even know that they’d woken up after the Morgan simulation? Alex could have made a simulation that melded into another seamlessly.

The realization that they could never have woken up at all stops the world for an instant before Six takes the idea and shreds it. That was a rabbit hole that they could not afford to go down. They can’t handle those implications.

Shaking the remainder of that horror off, Six resumes their pacing. They have no way of knowing when the simulation began. If it began. Therefore the only safe assumption was that the simulation was running now, and their current test revolved around their actions now. So what do the people in charge want from them?

Could it have to do with Alex? He’d helped them in the beginning, even if his recent actions put that in a new light. The testers might want Six to show their loyalty to him. Or they might be watching with more of a ‘Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me’ mentality and if they helped Alex they’d fail.

But compiled with the lives and safety of the others in the building, and the people under TranStar’s protection, and Arthur... What do the testers want? What are they hoping for from Six?

Does it matter?

The thought stops them cold in their tracks. For a second they grimace - the answer is obvious. Of course it does!

Does it really?

Except that it doesn’t. The simulations were tests of their reactions, their mental state. Assuming that they are in one, they are probably performing for an audience with near total control of their physical body. An audience they can neither predict nor communicate with for fear of failing the simulation. And if they aren’t in a simulation at all…

If they aren’t, inaction isn’t an option. They might have problems with some of the people running TranStar, but that's just two people to the hundreds that are in this building alone. No matter their problems with TranStar they can’t justify pulling hundreds of thousands of people into their justice. The ones who get in their way are an entirely different problem, but they already have innocent blood on their hands. They’re barely coping with that. Six doesn’t want to know what they’d do if there were more.

So no. It didn’t matter, because they can not afford to assume that their actions are not permanent. They just have to do the best that they can by themself and others.

It feels like a weight lifted from their shoulders when they finally make their decision, even if their decision is simply to ignore the entire idea. They give their weapons a final check and pat Arthur’s Mimicked form in what they hope is a reassuring way before heading out. They backtrack through the halls on memory alone until they reach the hallways marked with arrows. It leads them on a winding path to avoid locked doors and barricades, eventually reaching the elevator doors. The guard’s silver key card opens the doors to reveal a pitch black shaft with no elevator in sight. Six frowns, peering up, then down. They hiss in shock. The elevator is laying at the bottom of the shaft like a crushed can, its thick steel cable lying coiled on top. If they look closely enough they think they can see a clean cut at the end of it.

It’s more a slight inconvenience than anything else, but then again they’re not human. They clamber into the shaft and begin to climb. Their claws and Typhon limbs struggle to find purchase on the smooth walls, slowing their ascent. Eventually they reach up and touch a wall that does not give even a little to their questing strikes.

“Light,” they bark. The flashlight on the collar wrapped around their wrist illuminates the space and Six discovers that they’ve reached a reinforced metal plate set just above one floor.

There is just enough space for the elevator cabling to pass through, although they can’t see the opposite end from here. They groan, realizing that this must be the third of the three sheets of metal that block the top floors from the underground ones. They eye the small gap cautiously.

“Arthur, I’m going to go through. Don’t freak out.”

He doesn’t respond, probably because he can’t. They reach out and pull their body through the tiny space. Six’s body fits just fine, although their hand gun does get caught for a second. The GLOO gun, however, is a lost cause. It's just too bulky to make it. They cut the strap and hear it clang against the walls as it falls to join the elevator.

The second that they’re through they freeze, staring down the barrel of an automated machine gun. Red light shines in their eyes, a scanner running over their body. They have the presence of mind to shield Arthur with one arm before the scanner reaches him.

“Typhon cross ABK-6 identified. Standing down.”

They’re simultaneously irritated with themself for not thinking about this as a possibility and immensely relieved. The next two floors are the same, and then they’re out and above ground. They count the doors until they reach floor thirty three. Bashing their way through it isn’t exactly easy, but a few minutes later they swing through the gap in the doors and land softly on the carpet.

As they walk down the hallway they note the papers and office supplies scattered across the floor. The people on this level had obviously left in a hurry. They catch the sound a moment too late - a Mimic leaps onto their back, stabbing into their skin. They tear it off and crush it with a grimace. They’re really not paying attention if they missed the contacts’ cue that a Mimic was nearby.

A few turns later they see a pair of legs splayed out on the floor, the rest of the person hidden behind a desk. They creep closer, cautious. When they finally get around the desk they wince - the corpse has the twisted body and horror filled expression of a Mimic victim. A quick glance around verifies that their contacts aren’t picking up any signs of Typhon nearby. They crouch down next to the body, checking to see if they might have anything Six could use.

This time the Mimic attacks from the left, but it dies as quickly as the last one. Six frowns, looking from the Mimic’s remains to the rest of the office. They’d searched that corner, hadn’t they?

“Arthur, I need to take you off for a second. Don’t worry, I won’t lose you.”

A glance at the Mimicking Arthur confirms their suspicions. When they’d received the contacts Alex had told them that he’d had to make edits to the program to ensure that it didn’t register Six as Typhon. He wouldn’t have made the same exception for Arthur, but they weren’t responding to him at all. If they’d had any doubts before, the sabotage of the Typhon detection contacts erases them. The blackout, the experiments’ escapes, the explosion, all of it had been done with a purpose. Someone with their hands sunk deep into TranStar’s hierarchy is trying to bring it down from the inside.

They’re more cautious as they search the rest of the floor and move onto the next, keeping on the alert for more Mimics. They catch most before they do any damage, but they’ve still accumulated wounds by the time they spot the arrows that will guide them to the safe room for this section of the building. They spot a milling crowd through the windows of the safe room. There’s a Phantom there as well that Six shoots down before stepping up to the scanner. Again they cover Arthur as the red light pours over them. The outer door opens to a claustrophobic room blocked off from the rest of the safe room where they’re scanned once more before being allowed inside.

They step in. The researchers there are already muttering among themselves, having seen Six through the windows like Six had seen them. And standing at the distant back of the room was Alex, poring over the data scrawled across several computer monitors. They walk towards him, stopping a few yards back. They’re not sure how to get his attention - or if they even want it, even after coming all the way here for it - but someone else beats them to the punch. One of the Operators hovering near Alex spots them.

“Alex. Experiment ABK-6 is here,” Igwe says simply.

There is a very long, very heavy pause before Alex turns to regard them. They thought they’d be possessed by that same frozen anger they’d felt when they fought simulation Morgan when they finally faced Alex again. Instead the curdled, festing anger in their chest bursts to flame. It wants tears, blood, bodies lying on the floor. And Six doesn’t know what they want.

Instead of obeying it, they reach up and unclasp the collar from their neck, staring at the researchers in defiance. Several gasp as they drop it to the floor. Most scream when it very suddenly expands into Arthur, who, from the sound of it, is pouting from his seat on the tile.

“Didn’t have to fuckin’ drop me,” Arthur grouches.

“You’re fine,” they snap.

“I mean yeah, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

They realize that the eyes in the room have shifted from them to Arthur, the human faces paling. They’d assume it was because they weren’t expecting another freak to be with Six, but that wouldn’t explain the way that Alex’s face shut down the instant he saw him. They glance over and-

“Really?” they ask, glaring at Arthur. “You couldn’t have picked a different human? Any different human?”

He looks down at his body, a perfect replica of Morgan’s. “I don’t see what’s wrong with it. It’s not like anyone’s going to think I’m him, right?” He looks up at them, blinking wide, startled eyes. “Unless Morgan can Mimic too?”

“Morgan is dead.”

“Oh.” Arthur looks down at himself again, then up at Alex. “Oh.”

“Just- Use your Typhon form,” Six says.

“Can’t I go back to being a necklace instead?”

“No.”

Arthur sighs and Morgan disappears, replaced by an odd Phantom. Six sees one of the researcher's hands twitch for his hand gun and they snarl.

“Shoot him and I tear your throat out,” they snap. The man squeaks and backs up until he hits the wall.

Arthur crosses his arms. “Six!”

“Arthur I swear to fuck I am not in the goddamn mood for this.”

“You don’t seem to be in the ‘goddamn mood’ for anything but yelling at people.”

They glare at him. “I swear you’re supposed to be afraid of me. What happened to that?”

“You’re less scary when you’ve just told someone off for thinking about shooting me.”

Six is about to snap back at him until Alex approaches them, stopping a few wary yards away. “Six, who is that?”

“I don’t know Alex, why don’t you tell me who ABH-3 is?” they ask.

Alex’s eyes harden. “Six, that’s a failed experiment. What are you doing allying yourself with it?”

“Him,” they snarl. Alex takes a half-step back, and they see hands going for guns again. They’re faster. An instant later they’re staring down a barrel at Alex’s face. “Try it. Fucking try it. I’m a better shot than any of you, I’m stronger, faster. I’ll kill him, then I’ll kill all the rest of you, and I’d really fucking love to see you try to stop me.”

Everyone is pale, staring at Six in mounting horror. Everyone but Alex, who is entirely too calm for a man staring death in the face.

“Six. Put that down. We both know you won’t shoot me,” he says.

“Yeah? Do we? Do we really? Because just a week ago I would’ve said you’d never sign me over to that thing you call a mother, but here we are!”

He looks pained. “Six, there were reasons for-”

“Reasons?! What reasons do you have for acting like I’m a thing to be bargained with? What reason is good enough for making me go through losing- through that simulation? Do you really think you have a reason good enough to excuse making me kill people - humans, dozens of human people who weren’t even a threat, Alex - because I had nowhere left to go but the Sweepers? Because I’d like to fucking hear it!”

Alex mets their fevered anger with cold shock. “What?”

“Don’t you dare!” they scream. “You don’t get to pretend that you didn’t know what she was making me do!”

“No. No, she couldn’t have- Six, who did she make you kill?” Alex demanded.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s no one valuable to you. Just some cultists. You know, the soldiers and their kids and grandparents? Just them,” they spit.

“That isn’t- I never- I would never have ordered that. Six, you have to believe me, I had no idea.”

“Liar!”

“I am not lying.”

They’re about to snap again, but instead they just laugh bitterly. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you’re lying. Even if I believed that you didn’t know - and I don’t - isn’t that what I was made for, Alex?”

“Of course not. We need to bridge the-”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” they scream, jabbing a finger in Arthur’s direction. “If you only wanted us to ‘bridge the gap between Typhon and humans’ then why did he fail the simulation? Because your precious bridge was going to get the job done by killing the Typhon? Just fess up. I- We’re weapons to you. Things to be ordered around and toyed with until you get bored and send us off to people who’ll make us do what you’re too much of a coward to.”

He can’t answer them. His expression is pained before it closes down, unreadable. Six doesn’t care. They’ve said what they needed to. They turn to the door, not yet sure where they’re headed but knowing it’s as far from Alex Yu as they can get.

A hand catches their shoulder. “Six, wait.”

“What.”

Arthur hesitates. “You said that you lived here for a little while, right? Don’t you have any friends here? People who’re probably in trouble right now?”

They shake off his hand, turning and fixing Alex with all of the hatred they can muster. “Lucien Bellamy is dead. Probably executed. But if any of the Operators survived, yes I do.”

“Executed?!” Alex cries, but neither of the hybrids acknowledge him. He doesn’t get a chance to question them further - one of the technicians hunched over the computers he’d been working on calls him over, insistent.

Arthur looks uncomfortable. “Oh. That’s… Well, then they need your help, right?”

Six sighs. “Probably.”

“So then-”

“Yeah. I get it. I have to help them.”

“Right!” He looks relieved that they hadn’t argued. “I’d help, but…”

They’re about to snap at him again, but they recognize that hesitation. He’s only been awake for a few hours. He’s confused, disoriented, trying to pick up everything he needs to know as he goes, just like they had been. He’s scared, and with good reason. The last thing he needs is… Well, is Six shouting at him and snapping because they’re impatient. They forcibly unwind part of the rage strangling their insides and manage a reassuring smile, placing their hand on his.

“It’s okay. I’ve got this.”

For not having a face, Arthur expresses his relief remarkably well. “Thank goodness! I mean, uh. Glad to hear it?”

They snort. “Nice save.”

Six looks back at Alex, now hovering over a keyboard with his employees. They don’t like the way that seeing him makes them feel. Not because the hatred boils their blood and sets fires in their chest, but because no small part of them is still drawn to stand at his side. That only stokes the fires higher. They get the feeling that one of the two feelings must bury the other eventually. They just wish they knew which would win.

A very familiar voice, one that distracts them from their thoughts instantly, speaks from the laptop. “Alex.”

“January. Thank goodness,” Alex says. “Are you in a safe room?”

“I am. I have also found our culprit. He was posing as a guard. He is on floor twenty seven now, and has been ascending for a while now. I believe he is en route to his escape.”

“Connect me to the security system.”

A pause. “He’s currently on camera 27-G.”

“Yes, I see him.” Alex falls silent, navigating the camera system. Six takes advantage of the opening and steps into January’s view from the laptop cameras.

“January, do you know what happened to Lucien?” they ask quietly.

January ignores them. “If that is all?”

Alex glances up, distracted from his searching. “January. Answer Six’s question.”

“I cannot answer any direct questions from Experiment ABK-6 according to executive order HC 382.”

“Tell me what executive order HC 382 said. In as few words as possible,” Alex orders, tense.

“All TranStar personnel are to refer to Experiment ABK-6 by its designated experiment code. Experiment ABK-6 is not to be spoken to unless given direct orders to do so. Executive order HC 382 is not to be spoken about unless directly asked about by TranStar personnel with an E-9 clearance level. The orders also made several changes to Operators working under the OS-14 system. All such Operators were made unable to mention their new orders or system changes, and new coding was enacted preventing these Operators from disobeying Executive order 382.”

Alex cursed, low and fervent. “January, consider yourself exempt from executive order HC 382, effective immediately.”

“Six. I am sincerely sorry for being unable to help you these past few days,” January says immediately.

They smile lopsidedly. “Yeah, I know. It wasn’t your fault anyways. Do you know anything about Lucien?”

“I am afraid that all I can tell you is that he was dismissed from TranStar service almost immediately upon your return here. His tracking bracelet reported that up until then he was alive, although his heart rate and blood oxygen levels were dropping.”

That isn’t good, but it isn’t as bad as they’d feared either. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Is now the time that I inform you that I told you so, Alex?”

“We are in the midst of a crisis that could result in the deaths of everyone within TranStar America’s protection and you think now is the time to do this?” Alex snaps.

“Yes.”

“Fine. I made the wrong choice. Are you happy now?”

“No. I am with several of Grace’s soldiers a few floors above you. We were on our way to the central security room when we were attacked by several of the failed experiments. We have several wounded - pressing forward would be foolish.”

“Have you established communications with any other groups?” Alex asks.

“Several pockets of resistance, but none are in any position to push on towards central security.”

Alex curses. “Of course.”

Six catches Arthur looking at them expectantly. They roll their eyes at him, but still say, “How far are we from central security?”

“You are on floor thirty two. Central security is on floor twenty seven,” January says.

“That isn’t that bad. Are any of you too wounded to move?” they ask, glancing to the scientists in the room. All respond negatively. “I’m assuming Alex has the clearance to get us in there.”

“I do, but even with you leading us it would be risky,” Alex says.

“And staying here isn’t?”

“Fair enough,” Alex sighs. “Are you prepared to lead us there?”

“Sure, as long as you agree to my conditions. First, you’re going to give ownership of ourselves back to Arthur and I.”

Alex looks pained, saying, “I can’t. My mother is the only one who can give you citizenship now.”

“Sounds like a you problem. Convince her. For now, you agree to sign whatever Arthur needs the second we get to the security room.”

“Of course.”

“Second. You’re going to personally make sure you find Lucien and give him his job back after this.”

“I would have done that anyway.”

“Right. Third, by accepting my help you’re agreeing to let me leave TranStar custody whenever I’m done here. Oh. And Arthur, if that’s what he wants. If not, you’re going to stop all experiments on him and get him set up somewhere in the safe zone.”

“Agreed.”

“‘Safe zone’?” Arthur echoes.

“I’ll tell you later,” Six promises. ”Since we’re bargaining here, is there anything you want?”

“Not if it means I’ve got to fight those Phantoms,” he says, shuddering.

“I’ll do the fighting, I promise.”

He nods, considering. “Do you think they have chocolate bars here?”

“They do.”

“Could I get one?”

“You could ask for literally anything and you want a candy bar? I could just, you know, find one for you.”

“Oh. That’s sort of all I can think of.”

They shrug. “Okay. Chocolate is pretty good, you’ll like it. Alex you’ve got to get Arthur a candy bar too.”

“Fine. Is that all that you want, or are you going to ask me for something else inane?” Alex asks, irritated.

“I could just leave you here.”

“You wouldn’t.” But he doesn’t quite sound sure.

“Try me.”

He doesn’t. “I agree to all of your terms on two conditions. You take us to the security center, and when all of this is done you give me one last chance to explain myself.”

They want to tell him to go fuck himself - they don’t need his explanation, don’t want it - but what comes out instead is, “Deal.”

The group that they gather is full of nervous, skittery technicians and computer scientists held together by guards at the back and sides with Six taking up the front. Arthur hovers close behind Six, worrying his hands and trying his damndest to be invisible. They make it to the stairs without incident, but from there it’s slow going as they have to check every level before telling the rest to join them. The only real scare comes from a small group of Mimics that Six sets off the instant they step onto the landing. They catch a few in a single plume of fire, but one manages to get over the rails before they can stop it. One of the guards takes it down without much fuss. They step more carefully after that.

The fact that there is so little in their way just makes Six jumpy, waiting for something to go wrong. It’s strangely more nerve-wracking when nothing has even when they step out onto the floor containing their goal. They’re nearly there when they freeze, straining to catch the sound that had set off warning bells in their mind. Not hearing it again, they assume it’s the fear talking and press onward.

Six hears the gunshot a second before pain sprouts in their chest. They yelp, jumping back behind the corner. “Ow, fuck!”

“Six? Is that you?” a familiar voice calls, incredulous.

“What the- Sarah?”

“Of course. January said- I suppose it isn’t important. Do you really have Alex and his lab assistants with you?”

“Yeah. You gonna shoot me again if I come out?”

“Only if you don’t hurry.”

Few words are exchanged as the group Six is leading joins Sarah and the few guards she has kept with her in the security room. Sarah has been debriefed by January already, and she and her team have been trying to reconnect to those outside with little luck. The technicians immediately move to one side of the room to fiddle with the communications devices while Alex and Sarah talk strategy. No one really pays much attention to either of the Typhon-human hybrids as they hover near the door uneasily.

Six rocks slowly on their heels, thinking. They’re not interested in hanging around in the security room until someone decides what they should be doing, but they’re also not fool enough to think they can exterminate the Typhon running through TranStar America’s halls alone. They also have no desire to leave Arthur alone. The thought sparks another, and they glance over at him.

“Hey, uh, Arthur?” they ask quietly.

“What’s up?”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry about how I was acting before. I was an ass.”

“It’s fine.”

“Not really. I went through the same thing you did, I should’ve known better.”

“Well, like you said, long week, right?”

They sigh. “Yeah.”

Arthur hesitates, looking around the room. “I guess we both know I’m sort of lost here. I don’t really know what’s going on, but from what you guys have said… It’s bad. Really bad.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Right. So you’re dealing with a lot, and you’re angry, but you still helped me when you didn’t have to. I figure a little bit of being mad at me is forgivable, considering.”

“I guess.”

Arthur claps his hands suddenly. “Hey, if you’re still feeling bad, you could always get me a candy bar!”

They laugh at his enthusiasm. “Alex already owes you candy though.”

“Sure, but you know what’s better than one candy bar? Two candy bars.”

Both of them laugh.

“Six.”

They nod to Sarah. “Yeah?”

“I hear you have been bargaining with Alex.”

They won’t let themself feel guilt. “Yup.”

“Then you have completed your half of the deal. What will you do now?”

They shrug. “Why?”

“Quite frankly, we need all of the help we can get. If you are willing to make another deal I will bargain with you for your cooperation in rescue and extermination, specifically of the man responsible for this.”

“You don’t… Look, you’ve always been a… Well, not an enemy to me. I’ll do whatever you need me to, we can talk payment later. But I would’ve thought that you’d want to be the one to track down the rogue guard?”

“I have to stay. Protecting Alex is crucial to TranStar’s survival.”

“Ah. Well, I guess if there’s nothing to do here I’ll start by finding him.”

“That would be much appreciated. Once we reestablish communications with the outside we will send reinforcements your way.”

“Thanks. Do me a favor? Keep Arthur safe. Please.”

“I will. Do me a favor and keep yourself safe.”

“I’ve been doing that.”

“Then do it better,” Sarah said flatly.

“Ouch. I’ll do my best.”

Alex curses under his breath. “ We have a problem. The bastard behind all of this broke into my office. He’s searching through- No, he just found them. Damn. Damn!”

“What did he find?” Sarah asks sharply.

“I keep two flash drives in my desk. One is personal. The other contains backup files on much of my work, as well as information that could very well harm TranStar if it got out. We need to get them back. Now.”

“I will go,” Sarah says immediately.

“No. I need you here as a secondary authorization for the systems I need to access,” Alex says. Both of them glance at Six.

“What are you going to give me in return?” they ask, glaring at Alex.

“Six!” Sarah barks. “Those flash drives could bring humanity to our knees! You have already agreed to tracking him down - just grab the flash drives while you are there!”

They flinch, but don’t back down. “We didn’t have a formal agreement. It isn’t my problem. I’m not human, so I don’t care. How’s this - Alex, tell me what’s on that personal flash drive of yours.”

“I-” Alex closes his mouth, looks away. It’s an answer in and of itself

Six laughs, low and harsh as they turn and walk away.

“Six, please,” and he’s almost begging, as desperate as they’ve ever heard him, but there’s no room for pity in their chest.

It’s almost an instinct. They shove their hands in their pockets, rearrange their expression to be bored and haughty, turn just enough for him to see Morgan in them and say, “Go fuck yourself, Alex Yu.”

The sick, violent thing in their chest crows victory when he can’t respond. They walk out into the hall without another word. They wait until they’re out of earshot before they start running for the elevator shaft.

“January. Where is the cultist hiding out?”

“Strange. What happened to not caring?”

“I lied.”

“I know.” A long pause, then, “He was caught on the cameras a few minutes ago heading up the stairway. I believe the helicopter picked up on our radar is heading here to take him and the information he carries back to whomever sent him.”

“Thanks.” They grunt as a Mimic gets a light blow in before they can throw it off. “Are you allowed to give me an honest answer if I ask you a question about what Alex said back there?”

“Possibly. I’m afraid all information regarding the flash drives is off limits.”

“I figured. Nah. I wanted to ask if you think Alex really didn’t know about what his bitch mother was having me do.”

“He didn’t. The creation of the simulation with Morgan was done entirely without his knowledge as well. It does not change the fact that he allowed it to happen through his inaction, however.”

They laugh. “How’d you know that was my next question?”

“I was programmed to be able to predict others’ behaviors.”

“You know, I thought maybe I was the asshole for having problems with you. Now I’ve realized we’re both assholes and that’s the problem.”

“The two of us were programmed using Morgan’s personality as a base.”

“Ouch. What happened to not speaking ill of the dead or whatever?”

“It is his fault for making me too much like him. You seem to be in a better mood.”

“I guess. Kinda nice to know I’m not alone, you- January, are there any more like Arthur and I?” they ask, struck with a sudden realization.

“No.”

“You’d have to say that even if there were, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. I stand by my answer, however.”

They crawl back into the elevator shaft and begin their ascent. January speaks again after a moment.

“Have you forgiven Alex for his actions?”

“No.” They don’t even need to think about it, really.

“Then why get the flash drives?”

“Because that isn’t about Alex. It’s about keeping TranStar alive.”

A few beats of silence. “I see little reason for you to have any remaining loyalty to TranStar.”

“I don’t. It’s more that Morgan had a hero complex and fuck knows I got that from him.” They can see the top of the elevator shaft now, the end of the cable dangling from it. “I’m almost there.”

“And I am needed elsewhere. For now, two things. One. Morgan may have wanted to play hero, but he would never have risked his life or his desires to do so. Two. Regardless of the social values implied in the saying, it is true that the world is not black and white. Alex, Morgan, TranStar, you and I, we are shades of grey. That does not mean he deserves your forgiveness.”

It’s a strange sort of bitter happiness that sprouts in their chest, but they mean it when they say, “Thank you. For everything, not just that.”

“It is simply how I am programmed.”

They can hear the steady thump of helicopter blades cutting through the air as it moves closer. “Liar.”

“Perhaps. Good luck.”

“You too.”

Their Typhon limbs creep into the tiny crack between the elevator doors and pry them apart. A strong wind buffets them as they step into the sunlight. The helicopter is close, seconds from being within reach of the man standing in front of them. He’s wearing a guard’s uniform, and for an instant they assume that it was stolen from one of his victims. When sharp eyes whip around to stare at them they realize their mistake. He was wearing the same uniform they’d last seen him in as he watched them leave TranStar’s protection.

He grins. “So we meet again, abomination!”

A few things click into place. The intruder’s ability to access things he shouldn’t have, his knowledge of the layout, of the best ways to sabotage the building, to shut down communications inside and out. The sole guard with victory in his eyes as they were punished for being too human.

They don’t bother to respond. They dart forward, eyes locked onto the flash of metal they can see peeking out from his sweaty fists. At the same time he turns and sprints for the helicopter, getting there with only seconds to spare. He latches onto the railing and screams at the pilot to get going. As he heaves himself inside the pilot pushes onward, trying to clear the roof before Six can reach them. He underestimates their determination. They leap off of the edge of the roof and grab the railing in one hand, helicopter veering dangerously as their weight rocks it. They scramble to get inside, leaving deep gashes on the guard’s arm when he tries to slam the door shut on them.

They get in and find him staring at them with a grin plastered on his face. They eye him, trying to figure out their next move with two open doors on either side and a madman as an opponent. “I really should’ve guessed what your deal was when you started talking about angels.”

“God was guiding me - you were destined for failure either way.”

“Right.”

“You mock him at your own peril. After all, the General ordered me to leave you alone solely because killing you might prevent me from obtaining what he needs. And yet, here you are. I thought it was simply my destiny to be the one who enabled the General to enact God’s will on this Earth.”

They aren’t ready for him to dart forward to grapple with them, barely able to brace for the impact before he was on them. His eyes are wild, fingers tearing into their wrist and tangled in their hair as he cackles. “But instead! Instead, God has brought you to me, and I shall be allowed to cleanse Alex Yu’s insult to Him myself!”

They tear his hand out of their hair and are about ready to shove him away when they remember the open doors. Their split second hesitation is enough for him to slash at their arm. Their blood stains the seats as the two of them grapple for leverage, Six unable to press their physical advantage without risking losing the flash drives.

The fight takes the two of them to the floor and crashing into the pilot’s seat. The helicopter veers sharply to the side, the pilot screaming something unintelligible. The madman throws a horrified glance over his shoulder. For an instant Six thinks he might have seen the error in wrestling in the back of an already unstable helicopter, but the maniac grin that splits his face, the sick fire in his eyes say otherwise. In a sudden fit of strength he throws the both of them out of the open door. They roll mid-air, free falling above the water that is waiting to devour them. Six bites down on the arm around their throat and feels something crack apart as they snap their head back, tearing his hand from their throat. The man’s scream is eaten by the wind. Their free hand finds his sweat drenched fist and pries his fingers apart, digging for the barely two inch thumb drives he is so willing to die for. Their flesh melts and reforms around them, locking them safely away as the water finally rises up to meet them.

The man hits the water back first. It was a little like a fly being hit by a flyswatter. There’s a gut twisting crack followed by several more. He has only half a second to realize what has happened before his heart is pierced by a rib and then Six is in the water too, their fall broken by his body. They plunge into and then topple over his corpse, sucked down by the currents. They’re bashed into the riverbed, spun around until a decayed steel beam slams into their side. They scramble for a hold before they’re torn away and their hip clips the bridge’s support beams. Their mouth fills with water as their body is swept away by the current.

For a long while there is no up, no down, no sense of where they are or what is happening. They curl in on themself to present the tiniest target possible, but they’re still bashed up against the many things that have settled onto the river floor. The water grows rapidly saltier but they can spare no thought to why that is.

Finally they hit sand again. Cautious, they peek before sucking in a sharp gasp, and with it a good gallon of seawater. They're resting on a rocky outcropping covered in barnacles, coral, and seaweed, fish hurrying away into the murky water. They’re somewhere in the ocean, swept there by the current that’s now more of a playful breeze than the tornado it had been as it pulls gently on their clothes. They can’t spot the surface but aren’t consumed by total darkness either, so they must not be far from shore. They’re about to relax and let their battered body recover when they hear it. The wailing cry of a Nightmare.

Frozen, they wait for it to come closer. Instead the sound slowly wanders further away as they strain to catch it. When they can no longer hear it they make a break for it, swimming up the gentle incline of the ocean floor. Their fingers break through the surface a few minutes later. Gentle waves push and pull against them as they swim for the not-so-distant shore. When they’re finally crawling on hands and knees across sand and rough seashells they let their body fall with a soft grunt. The waves wash up and over them, the sun warm after the chill of the deep waters. They grin through their exhaustion.

Not bad for having escaped the second attempt on their life in one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand now introducing ABH-3! He's gone through a lot of development from my initial idea of him, but I like where he is now. And for those wondering, Morgan Le Fey is the sister of King Arthur in most of the mythos. So ABH-3 is Arthur, the brother of Morgan. I know, sort of out there but it just felt right.
> 
> Also I've got to say that few things have surprised me more than how much so many of you seem to care for Six. I mean I've had four or five people mention getting them a pet because they liked Belle so much! I will say that I have the next few chapters planned out in detail and adding something like that would be a strange and awkward shift for the story to take right now, but that doesn't mean it will stay that way. I read all of your comments and I promise I'll take them into consideration in future installments.
> 
> Just one last thing, I swear. Since we're getting closer I should let you all know that chapters 11-13 are going to be different than your average chapter. Considering the original story IS a video game I figured it'd be fun to have a few alternate endings, which means that chapter 10 is the last chapter before the three alternate final endings. I'm planning to put up all three on the same day, hopefully not long after I put up chapter 10.


	9. Six Takes a Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever. Short answer as to why is depression, long answer is lost passion for pretty much everything, including writing and breathing, and anxiety that kept insisting I can't write. Which might be true, but here we are anyway.

They should get up.

Get moving, find a way back to TranStar, to Arthur, who needs them.

But the sand is warm, and the waves are gentle and chill, and their fingers have found a spiralling sea shell to trace, so they don't do any of that.

At least not fast enough.

It’s only a handful of minutes before they hear the sound of feet shuffling through sand. The rough breathing that accompanies the shifting tells them their new companion - companions? - is human, but that does not mean that they are an ally. Any telltale black blood has been washed away by the waves already, so they stay still, waiting for the human to make the first move.

The human stops a few feet away, then speaks. His voice is rough edged and deep. “TranStar.”

Another voice laughs, this one younger. “Yeah, no shit. You recognize the colors?”

“Uh. Well, they ain't a tech or top brass. Other 'n that, no idea.”

“I don't think they're a guard either. Huh. Think they're alive?”

“Dunno. You alive?”

They allow themself to smile, face hidden by sand and hair. That was actually kind of funny.

“If they aren't I call their shoes. These got singed by those damn Cysts up on Lincoln.”

Six hears them creep closer and realizes that they've got to make a decision.

“Hey, girl,” the rough voice says, kicking at their side gently. “You alive?”

They groan and roll over, squinting up at the two humans as though their eyes needed to adjust to the light. An older and younger man, both in worn but well cared for clothing. Six immediately picks up on the weapons at their sides.

“Not a girl,” they mutter. The younger man curses and mutters something about shoes.

“Well then, boy, good to see you’re alive.”

“Not that either.”

“That works too. Need a hand up?”

They accept his offer and stand on shaky, uncertain feet. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing. How’d you get out here anyways?” he asks.

They blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “A boat. We, uh, we crashed.”

“Against what? There’s nothing out there,” the younger says.

“Rocks. Guess the tide was lower than the captain thought. I’m Skylar, by the way.”

“Bill,” the older says. “And that’s Kyle.”

They speak up again hurriedly, cutting off Kyle before he can begin asking more questions. “Well it was nice meeting the two of you, but I think I’d better get going. They’ll be expecting me back at work tomorrow.” They laugh uncomfortably.

“How are you going to get back there?” Kyle asks.

They glance back at the river. Swimming won’t be possible unless they go through the ocean, but considering that they’d just heard a Nightmare down there… “I guess I’ll find my way through the city until I find an intact bridge.”

“Or you could let us show you where to go,” he offers.

They hesitate. “I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking, we’re offering. You’d be Typhon chow otherwise,” Bill says.

“And hey, if you really want to pay us back you could just give me your shoes,” Kyle says, laughing.

They consider the offer. Stepping on broken glass wasn't exactly pleasant, but it wouldn't get stuck in their feet easily either. Their skin was also a lot less sensitive to whatever pebbles and thorns might be along the way than if they were human.

“Sure.” They drop back to the sand and remove their shoes, holding them out to Kyle, who looks both confused and uncertain.

“Uh. Won't you be needing those?” he asks.

“I have tough feet.”

“There's glass and stuff on the roads here.”

“Like I said. Tough feet.”

Kyle groans. “Fine, I was shitting you, now put those back on and let's get going.”

They stare at him, confused. “So… you don't want them?”

The men share a glance before Kyle shakes his head. “No, I don't.”

Still lost but more than willing to keep their footwear they slip the shoes back on and hop up to follow after the two men. They guide them up and away from the beach, heading at a slight angle out from the river. Bill explains that they’d learned to avoid certain parts of town. The section of the riverside properties they’d just avoided is home to a Technopath and its host of Operators and household robots.

“Aren’t they a little close to TranStar to be left alone? Why hasn’t the army taken care of them?” Six asks.

The other two laugh. “Don’t you know you guys don’t bother with anything outside of your borders? Geez, where do you work, under a rock?” Kyle asks.

“No. I just… guess I never paid it too much attention,” they say quietly. They hadn’t wanted to know of TranStar’s failings.

“Yeah, well, the rest of us can’t really do that.” They flinch at the bitter tone in his voice and bite their lip. Maybe they’d do better to keep their thoughts to themself.

“Kyle,” Bill says, tired note in his voice. Kyle just grunts and drops it.

A few minutes later Kyle leans in close to Bill, murmuring something Six can’t hear. Bill shakes his head, prompting a quick response from Kyle. The back and forth continues for a few minutes before Kyle finally nods in agreement.

Six decides it’s safe to speak up. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah. We’re just gonna be makin’ a detour,” Bill says.

They’re about to ask for more details when the two men leading them take a sharp right and they catch sight of what must be their ‘detour’. Their destination is a large park hiding between the decaying remains of apartments and businesses. The overgrown grass and weeds cling to their shoes as they walk, trash and broken branches littering the ground. The voices from up ahead pause as the trio get closer.

  
“It’s just me and Kyle,” Bill shouts. “Oh, and some TranStar guard we picked up on the way.”

“Then get your asses over here, I swear to God the zucchini multiplied overnight,” an unseen person gripes.

A second later Six sees what they were talking about. The fenced off area is huge, grass and trees uprooted to make space for a thriving garden. There are more plants than they can name, all tended to by people making quiet conversation as they fill the baskets in their arms or at their feet. Others stand around the perimeter and scan for Typhon with their firearms at the ready. These guards briefly study Six before dismissing them.

Six lifts their head, sniffing. There’s a heavy, sweet scent in the air that reminds them instantly of Alex and his fruit teas. Whatever it is they’re immediately sure that they want to be eating it, and far more resolved not to take any food that could go to someone who actually needed it instead. The scent is coming from another fenced off section of the park. The trees within are small, the tallest barely two feet above the heads of the humans tending to them. Most are heavy with fruit, too thin branches supported by whatever their caretakers could find to prop them up. Bill unlatches the gates to the garden of leafy vegetables and ushers Kyle and Six inside. One of the women eyes Six as she walks up with her full basket resting on one hip.

“You sure we should be letting one of them in?” she asks, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at Six.

“Jesus, first Kyle and now you. Since when are we keeping this place a secret, eh?” Bill asks.

She goes to reply, pauses, then shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Bill hands a basket to Six and guides them over to a row of low-growing plants with dark green leaves broader than their head. “We’re sorta late, but get what you can find off of these. If you’ve got room to spare afterwards find Kyle.”

They crouch beside the plant, watching the other two out of the corner of their eye. Kyle walks up to a plant covered in tiny tomatoes and starts picking. Bill almost immediately walks out of their line of sight, and they have to give up on tracking him. They turn back to the zucchini and find one of the vegetables hidden under a leaf. The stem snaps easily enough under their fingers. The zucchini is covered in tiny hairs, prickly to the touch. It surprises them, makes them run their fingers over it again, the thin coating of dirt on it sticking to their skin. The only memories Morgan has of the vegetables are smooth, cold, and waxy, fresh from the produce section of the grocery store. The difference is a bit of a shock. It only takes them a few minutes to find the ones left behind by earlier harvesters - they’d been pretty thorough.

As they get up to join Kyle, he pops a cherry tomato off of the vines and into his mouth, humming happily. When he sees them watching him curiously he almost smiles.

“What? They’re good.”

They shrug. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Don’t like tomatoes?” he guesses.

They shrug, taking one of the soft fruits in their fingers and pull gently. The plant sways, but does not let go of the tomato.

“Put down the basket, then grab the vine with one hand and the tomatoes with the other,” Kyle says.

His method works much better. They take the minute or so of silence to glance around for Bill, who remains frustratingly out of sight. If he’d noticed… If he was off getting reinforcements… They heave a near silent sigh. What they wouldn’t give just to be human at times like this. Sweating in the sun - something their body can’t duplicate and they can only hope no one notices - getting tanned or sunburnt, aching feet and back as they hunched over the produce. Knowing that they weren’t alone.

A tiny smile flits across their face. Except that they aren’t alone anymore, are they? As inexperienced and skittish as he is, Arthur is just like them. A bizarre fusion of Morgan’s memories and DNA from both the Typhon and humans. Someone created to serve a purpose who might want to become something more than just a weapon, or a bridge, or whatever the hell humans had decided they should be.

They wonder what he will have to say to them when they get back. Will he be angry they’d left for so long? Relieved that they’ve returned? Will he want to know more, about Six, about their shared powers, about the alien world they were thrust into? They know they have questions for him. What he thinks of Alex, and TranStar, and Morgan. If maybe Morgan’s memories feel just a little too much like his own sometimes. If he resents them, hates humans for what they’ve done, for creating monsters because they could, because they are selfish, and never _stopped to think-_

“You might just set the plants on fire if you keep staring at them like that.”

Six starts, blinking to focus their eyes. They’d been standing stock still, glaring at nothing, for a while now, long enough that Kyle is giving them an expectant, curious look.

“It’s nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing.”

“What do these taste like, anyway?” they ask, dodging his prying and rolling a tomato between their fingers.

“Like tomatoes?”

They have vague memories of tomatoes, but none that make them think eating one by itself would be enjoyable. “So why are you eating them then?”

“Because they taste good?”

Six scowls and returns to their work. After a minute, he speaks up again.

“You know, if you’re that curious you can just eat one.”

They immediately shake their head. “It’s your food, not mine.”

“So? I offered, didn’t I?”

Well, if he’s going to insist. They look at the tiny fruit critically, taking in the dark red skin before popping it into their mouth. It’s already beginning to dissolve as they run their tongue over the firm flesh, fascinated by the feel of it. It pops when they bite down, acidic, sweet juice flooding their taste buds. It’s a massive improvement over ration bars and the memories of tomatoes from Morgan. They decide that they like it.

They mimic swallowing. “It’s good.”

Kyle laughs. “No shit.”

They lick their fingers, hoping to get a last taste of the tomato. Instead they coat the tip of their tongue in gritty dirt. The taste takes a moment to disappear, and they add to their limited list of personal experiences.

 _Tomatoes are good._  
_Dirt not so much._

Someone bumps into them a they pass by, giving Six a quick apology before continuing on.

_Humans are nicer to other humans._

“You two almost done?” Bill asks, appearing from nowhere.

“Yup,” Kyle answers easily. He doesn’t seem to have any questions about where his companion has been.

The two of them guide Six out of the gardens and past the fruit trees. They try to name the fruits as they walk past, but they can only gather information from Morgan’s memories so quickly. They’re still going over the quick glances they’d caught - had that flash of red been a cherry half-blocked by a leaf, or an apple? - when they reach a heavily guarded office building. The guards nod to Bill as they pass.

They’re barely inside before Kyle and Bill are guiding them to one of the groups of people gathered nearby and telling them to sit down while they go to give their report to whoever’s in charge. The office building has been gutted, walls torn down and desks and chairs removed to create communal space.

They people watch as they wait. The group is as diverse as the city itself was - and, now that they’re thinking about it, much more so than what they’d seen of the population within TranStar’s safe zone. There is certainly a broader range of ages here. Most wear clean but well worn clothing over thin frames. Six is thin, but that is the thin of a person with easy access to food. These people are thin in a way that makes Six suspect they’ve had more than their fair share of food shortages. They may not be starving, but they certainly aren’t thriving either.

Six is starting to wonder if maybe they’re expected to join the conversation or find something to do with one of the groups working on individual projects when Bill returns without Kyle. Six notices a group of five leave the door just a few steps behind him and hurry out of the building. They try not to jump to conclusions.

“Hey, Skylar? You know a fellow by the name of Lucien Bellamy?” Bill asks.

They shoot to their feet at his name, stumbling a little in their haste. “Do you know where he is? He’s okay, right?” Logic catches up a moment later and reprimands them for giving information to people that they barely know.

“Woah kid. He’s fine, little under the weather what with the gunshot wound and all, but he’s recovering. As for where he is, we’re taking you there tomorrow. He should be with Charlette's group and they’re the ones who maintain the ziplines.” He gestures for them to follow as he walks to a spot nearby and settles into a seat, picking up a pair of torn jeans and examining them critically before pulling out a box with needle and thread.

The relief makes them lightheaded. “Thank god… But why tomorrow?”

“We’re not taking you anywhere in the dark. Gotta wait until morning.”

“Oh.” They glance out the windows. The sun is almost entirely set now, stars beginning to appear on the edges of the fading orange and pink. “I can make it by myself. Can you just tell me where he is?”

“You ain't going anywhere kid. I don't care how good your eyes are, you can't see those damn things in the dark. Give it up and sit down.”

Sensing there would be little point in arguing, Six takes a seat on the floor next to him. They suppose they're stuck here until the humans go to sleep, or at least drop their guard for long enough for Six to sneak away. Bill busies himself with mending the jeans, swiftly sealing the tear in the knee.

“You mind passing me that t-shirt next to you?” he asks, not looking up.

They pick it up and offer it to him. Bill grabs hold of their wrist instead, slicing a shallow cut on their hand with the knife he’d just used to cut the string. Six hisses and yanks their arm back but is far too late. Black blood wells up from the wound and clings to the blade Bill is examining curiously. In the instant it takes them to register the danger someone leans over their shoulder, inspecting them.

“Huh. Guess you were right,” Kyle says conversationally.

“‘Course I was,” Bill replies, wiping the blade off on a rag and returning to his work.

Six is tense and still, waiting for Kyle’s move. They’re expecting a gun to their head, or a knife in their back. Instead he steps around them and takes a seat before threading a needle of his own. Neither of the men seem much inclined to continue their conversation. Six expects to feel a bullet in their chest at any moment, hear shouting, _something_ , but the minutes stretch on.

Finally, unable to stand the wait, they speak, tone dark and bitter. “Just get it over with already, would you?”

“What’re you expecting us to do, Six?” Bill asks, unperturbed.

They hiss in shock at their name. “How do you know that name?”

“Because Luce hasn’t shut up about you in the five days he’s been back,” Kyle supplies, looking at them in amusement. “I’m glad we found you or I’d have to keep listening to his bitching about not being allowed to break you out.”

“‘Luce’? Lucien? You know him?”

“‘Course we do.”

“So then you know what I am. Well, obviously,” they say, glancing down at their arm. “But you aren’t… doing anything?”

“Actually, we’re mending clothes,” Kyle says.

They scowl. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know.”

Bill sighs. “Look, Six. If you were planning to kill us you’d have done it back on the beach or on the way here. Whatever else you might be, you’re no brainless killin’ machine.”

“Technically the brainless part is true,” they quip, mouth moving before their mind can catch up. Their memory of January scolds them for their sarcasm.

“Lucien trusts you, that’s good enough for us,” Bill says, ignoring them.

“Wasn’t enough for anyone else.”

“That’s because TranStar is full of assholes,” Kyle says.

They frown at him, not sure if they want to argue or agree. He takes it as a sign of discontent and shrugs.

“What? It’s true. TranStar’s people don’t work with anyone that isn’t also TranStar. All the rest of us are beneath them,” he says, lip curled in distaste.

“T’ be fair, most people outside their walls would rather kill them than help,” Bill says.

“Yeah, but that’s their fault too. If they hadn’t kicked out everybody who wasn’t perfect - if they couldn’t pay to stay, _of course_ \- then we’d all be working together. They’re the ones who made it us versus them,” Kyle says.

“‘Kicked people out’?” Six echoes.

“Yup. They promised all of us that they were going to build safe zones big enough to house everyone. You helped out, you got to stay. It was a lie. You got to stay if you fit enough criteria but if you didn’t? You were worthless to them.”

“But how could they kick you out if you were already there?”

“Same way humans have done it for thousands of years,” Bill says. “Your blind neighbor might have a few dozen skills that you don’t, but can they shoot a Typhon they can’t see? Probably not, so wouldn’t you rather be spending your time and efforts to build a stronger civilization of ‘perfect’ people instead of supporting them? Or the elderly couple next door? Or the autistic kid down the street?”

“Who cares if they can’t do one specific thing?” Six demands. “So what if they need help with some things? No one can do everything for themselves, it’s why human civilization developed in the first place.”

“I said I know what their argument is, not that I agree with it. Nah. Us old folks might not be as spry as we were, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t just as valuable as the rest. Same for everyone here. Most of us can go out with the patrols, and the ones who can’t, well, who do you think takes care of the kids and the injured? Some of us used to be teachers, most all of us can cook, and these clothes don’t mend themselves.”

They nod. The logic is very human. Dividing up the work allowed for specialized workers and supporting each other was natural for a social species like humans. Or, they add, thinking grimly of TranStar, it should be.

“I don’t get it,” they confess. “Why- No, how can TranStar do that kind of stuff?”

“The ‘greater good’,” Kyle says, voice dripping disdain.

Bill elaborates. “It isn’t like TranStar is evil, or run by evil people. Most everyone’s just trying to survive.”

“I don’t know. Catherine and William Yu are pretty evil,” Six says.

“So’re their sons,” Kyle adds. Six stiffens but says nothing.

“Everybody’s got a reason for doin’ what they do,” Bill insists. “Do you really think anybody in that family’s motivated by a desire to be evil?”

Six wants to say yes, but… “Of course not.”

“Doesn’t excuse what they’ve done though,” Kyle says.

“Nope. But that ain’t my point, now is it?” Bill asks. His tone is calm to Kyle’s challenge. The two of them fall silent, and Six lets their thoughts consume them.

“Power,” they say, finally.

“What?” Kyle asks, shooting them a puzzled look.

“William and Catherine are motivated by power.”

Bill hums. “I dunno. I’ve found most people who want power actually want something else.”

Six frowns. They’ve met William Yu all of once, but Catherine… “I think Catherine feels like it’s owed to her. Or… I guess a better way of putting it is she wants people to acknowledge her and her family as being above them.”

Bill nods in approval. “What about the sons?”

Six grimaces, looking away. “I don’t understand why Alex does what he does, or what he wants.”

“Really?” Bill’s tone is clear of judgement.

“Yes.”.

“You don’t sound very sure,” Kyle says.

“Why the hell do you two care anyways?” they snap. “I’m not even- you know. I don’t matter to you.”

Kyle just shrugs. Bill says, “Just making conversation.”

Somehow they doubt it, but they let it slide. They try their hand at sewing and mostly just stab their fingers and get tiny dots of black on the fabric they’re attempting to mend. After a while someone comes by to hand out food. Kyle takes a plate filled with the vegetables they’d helped pick earlier, now cooked and steaming. The nutrition bar that Bill hands to them is instantly familiar.

They frown, glancing up. “Did you buy these from TranStar?”

“Sorta. We stay outta the way and don’t bother your people in the city and they give us food every month. Guess they figured we’d be more trouble otherwise.”

They play with the wrapping without opening it as the other two dig in. It only takes a minute or two for Kyle to notice.

“You planning to eat?” he asks, looking at them expectantly.

“I don’t really need to. At least not human food.”

“So you’re going to, what, go out there and find some grass?” he asks skeptically.

They shrug, uncomfortable. “I guess.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just eat the bar. Or take some of this zucchini before we finish it off instead.”

“I don’t-”

“Six, it’s fine. We’ve got enough, nobody’s gonna starve because you had one meal here,” Bill interrupts.

They shake their head, insistent. “I can’t take this from someone who actually needs it. I can get the same amount of energy by finding some plants to eat or something.”

Bill sighs, holding out his empty hand for their nutrition bar. They hand it over, relieved until he shoves his opened bar into their hand and quickly tears open the one they’d given him. “There. Now they’re both open and somebody’s gotta eat that one so it might as well be you.”

Defeated, they start eating, guilt a lead weight in their gut. They don’t need this food. These resources are wasted on them. Bill watches them like a hawk until the last of the bar dissolves in their mouth. Kyle’s the one who puts a fork into their hands and pushes the zucchini towards them.

“I really-”

“Do you have any idea how much zucchini one plant produces? We’ve been drowning in it all summer. You’re doing us a favor,” he says.

Six glares at the both of them. “Are either of you planning to let me finish a sentence?”

“No,” Kyle says.

The zucchini tastes like fire smoke, salt, and some herb they can’t place over a very mildly planty base. It’s good, even as the rock of guilt grows heavier. A few bites in they put their foot down and near drown in relief when Kyle finishes off the rest.

When Kyle leaves to take their dishes back to be washed Six speaks again. “Bill, can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“What do you think of TranStar?

“Why? Is what we said before on your mind?”

They shrug. “There’s a lot I don’t know. I want to hear your opinion.”

“I think they’ve done a lot of good. Lot of bad too.”

They grimace at the ambiguity of his answer. “That’s not very helpful.”

When he says nothing in response they sigh, trying to find a better way of phrasing their questions.

“Do you think maybe TranStar could be better?” they try.

“Yup. But it ain’t your job to make ‘em be better.”

.They look up sharply. “How did you...?”

He just grins.

“Right. Whatever. I just- What if there’s someone there I think could be good - well, better, because I think he’s done some good too - but I’m not sure because maybe I just want him to be good? So I’m imagining it?”

“Sounds to me you need to talk to him.”

“But he lies. A lot.”

“Some people are like that.” Bill pauses thoughtfully. “He has to prove to you that he can be good then. And you’ve gotta trust him.”

“That will be… difficult.”

“So’s life.”

They sigh, burying their head in their arms. “What happened to ‘fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me’?”

“If that’s how you wanna live your life, go ahead. But I don’t think you do.”

“No,” they admit quietly. “I want… a lot of things, but I don’t want to hate him. Is that stupid?”

“It’s human.”

“But I’m not.”

He doesn’t seem to have a reply to that, and the conversation dies there. When Kyle returns the mood lightens only slightly. Six mentally weighs their options, watching the night shift guards take their places, and decides they’re willing to trust Bill and Kyle really do plan to take them to Lucien tomorrow.

Later, as Six tries to be subtle about running their fingers over Alex’s thumb drive, retrieved from under their skin when they needed reassurance it was still there, they modify their list.

 _Tomatoes are good._  
_Zucchini is also good._  
_Dirt not so much._  
~~_Humans are nicer to other humans._ ~~  
_Some humans are just kind._

  
Six wakes several times during the night, unused to the noises of humans nearby. Just as the sky starts to lighten several bunches of people begin to rise and Six gives up on further rest to rise with them. Before long they’ve joined the people gathered in the kitchens to prepare breakfast.

Bill finds them an hour or so later pitting peaches to be made into jam. “Marissa didn’t let you cook, eh?”

“I told her I’d never touched a stove in my life and she sent me over here.”

“I’m guessin’ you meant that literally.”

“This is the first time I’ve been in or seen a kitchen.” If they don’t count the simulation.

He whistles and shakes his head. “Damn. Well, you get washed up, it’s about time for us to leave.”

Six perks up. “Are we going to where Lucien is?”

“Yup.”

They hurry to clean their sticky hands - although they do spare a moment to lick juice off of their fingers and decide that it too tastes good - and rejoin Bill. He leads them back to where Kyle is still sound asleep despite the growing noise of the people around them. Bill doesn’t bother trying to speak to Kyle to wake him up., just taps Kyle’s shoulder twice before pulling back. Kyle groans, flipping onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes.

“You know you could just stay here,” Six says, amused.

Bill barks out a laugh. “Nah, he’d never miss the chance to moon over Lucien.”

Kyle moves his arm to squint up at Bill. “Why do I get the feeling you were just laughing at me?”

Bill doesn’t seem bothered by the odd question. “I was.”

Kyle rolls up into a seated position, stretching. “Six, whatever he told you is a filthy lie.”

They look between the men in confusion. Why is Kyle acting like he hadn’t heard them? “O...kay?”

With Kyle up and moving it’s only a few more minutes before all three of them are leaving the building together, headed north towards the river and TranStar. Kyle asks if Six even knows what a zipline is, and explains the basic idea behind it when they say their understanding is shaky. It seems simple enough - a thick cable was strung between a higher location and a lower one, then people rode down the slope in a harness - but left a rather glaring question.

“Why do we need them? Aren’t any of the bridges still functional?” Six asks.

“Some, but they’re infested with Mimics and Cyst Nests so they’re near impossible to cross.  
We tried knockin’ them out a few times but the things just come right back,” Bill says.

“Oh. But then wouldn’t using a boat make more sense?”

“You can’t tell by looking, but the river’s got a strong current. It’s too much trouble to navigate.”

“Right, it was pretty strong,” Six says, thinking back. When they get a confused glance from their companions, they elaborate, “I was sort of lying yesterday, about the boat. The helicopter I was in crashed into the river. It-”

“Wait, wait, you were in that helicopter yesterday? Did you fall out?” Kyle interrupts suddenly.

“Yes?”

“Holy shit, how are you even alive? We saw you fall, that was what, sixty feet? You should’ve at least broken every bone in your body!”

They grin. “One of the many benefits of not having bones to break. It still hurt though.”

“‘It hurt’ they say,” Kyle huffs, rolling his eyes. “Damn. Wish humans were that hard to fuck up.”

They shrug, smug. They’d never been treated like their abilities were unusual or even very interesting, beyond basic scientific curiosity. They blame the novelty of it for their sudden desire to show off, but it certainly doesn’t stop them. Kyle is suitably impressed by their array of Typhon powers, even when they manage to zap themselves with the electricity they’ve never really managed to control properly. Bill mostly just tosses in the odd comment, observing Six’s show without judgement.

They eventually reach a tall building. The thick metal cord of the zipline is visible from the ground, stretching over their heads and out of sight in the direction of the river. The air is humid, even if there’s not much sound coming from the water.

“Meet you at the top,” Six says, ready to leap up the building.

“Six, wait. You want to get shot? ‘Cause that’s what’s gonna happen when the guards see you climbing up a building,” Bill says.

Sheepish, they shake their head no and follow the two of them inside. Surprisingly - or perhaps not, considering their lifestyle - neither of the men have much trouble on the many flights of stairs it takes them to reach the top. The people manning the ziplines hand the three of them the harnesses, giving Six a few brief directions. Bill clips his harness to the line first. As he flies towards the other side Six looks out over the water and spots the zipline leading back over the river just a few buildings away.

“You nervous?” Kyle asks.

“Not really. Should I be?”

“Nah, you’ll be fine. You’re up.”

They find themself uncertain as they eye the zipline. From that height, at that speed, even their body might not hold up should anything fail. The harness suddenly seems a very flimsy protection against certain death. On the other hand, it isn’t as though they really have a choice.

They take the leap of faith, even if it’s a little more like the very small step of faith. The line bounces just a little as their weight settles on it and before they’ve gotten over the jolt of fear that causes they’re gaining speed fast. The wind whips through their hair and tugs on their clothes, chill and bracing. They’re over the water an instant later. It’s deceptively peaceful looking, tiny ripples and barely visible currents catching the light and glimmering in the early morning sun. Nature is slowly reclaiming this section of the city too - they can see now that several bridges on either side of them are broken down, and greenery is taking over the banks and roads. The Coral spirals through all of it, of course, but it just adds to the sense of beauty and loss.

Six doesn’t notice when they begin to slow, only coming back to reality when they come to a sudden but gentle stop on the rooftop. Bill laughs and claps them on the back, saying that they’ve got that shaken look everybody gets after their first time. When Kyle joins them he seems as invigorated as Bill, but much more eager to get to the final leg of their trip. Bill snickers and Kyle shoots him a glare, and Six gets the feeling they’re missing something.

The headquarters of the group Lucien is with - they ask for its name and are met with shrugs, Bill saying that it changes every other day so nobody can remember anyways - are only a block down from the zipline. The streets have been barricaded off and cleaned, leaving no debris or broken down vehicles for Typhon to lurk in. The people walking past are all outfitted in mismatched tactical gear and rough clothing. Their hands don’t stray to their weapons, but eyes follow the three of them all the way up to the headquarters.

Bill has to take a moment to verify their identities before they’re let in. He takes over the talking for the three of them, but he doesn’t have to say much before the guards realize who they are and direct them to a man waiting to take them to Lucien. As they walk, Six notes that the building is in significantly better repair than the ones that are truly abandoned, even if the elevator is currently out of commission. The further up the stairs they get, the more tense they feel, as though some part of them thinks Bill and Kyle have been lying to them and Lucien won’t be there, or worse, is truly dead. Six doesn’t have many allies, and while they like Mikhaila and Danielle a great deal, Lucien and January are the only ones who have never acted like they wanted Six to be Morgan, unless they count Alex. Which they don’t.

They hear him before they see him, his voice like an electric shock even though they’d been waiting for it. They crane their neck around their guide and spot a tall figure with messy blond hair. Without pause they dart around their guide and break into a run.

“Lucien!”

He’s just barely turned when they crash into him, arms wrapping around his waist tight. He grunts, staggering a few steps back before he starts laughing, returning the embrace. They try not to breathe in too much of his scent - medicine, chemicals, and body odor just beginning to go sour - as they let their relief speak.

“You’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Six, I’m fine. I’d say it’d take more than a sniper to take me out but Maman might actually kill me if I do. And the Fates might just take me up on that challenge.”

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

“No it wasn’t. I was stepping on too many toes, too close to important people. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. But that isn’t important right now - what happened to you? Why aren’t you back at TranStar right now?”

They give him the shortest version possible, ending with, “I was still on the beach when Kyle and Bill found me.”

“I’m glad it was them.” Lucien pauses, sighs. “Alex… What he did was cruel and thoughtless. I’m not surprised you’re angry with him.”

“I don’t know if I really am.”

“You should be.”

“I know,” they say, shame washing over them.

“Hey, don’t. It isn’t a bad thing to have forgiven him.”

“Except I haven’t, I just want to forget that anything happened so things can go back to the way that they were.”

“Six…” He hesitates, looking for the right way to tell them that isn’t an option.

“I know. But I can’t help wishing.”

He just sighs. “I should’ve been there.”

Kyle’s voice speaks over their objection. “Dude, you’re seriously still on about that? You got shot.”

“Thank you,” Six mutters.

“Yes, I am, and Six needed my help! I should’ve noticed the sniper nearlier.”

“The point of having a sniper is sort of not to be seen,” Kyle points out.

“You tell him, Kyle,” Six says.

Lucien huffs. “Ganging up on an injured man. Rude.”

Six jumps back. “Shit! I forgot! Did I hurt you?”

Lucien looks guilty. “No, no, I’m fine. Sorry, I was joking.”

They squint at him, suspicious. “Kyle, he’s lying isn’t he?”

“Six, if you want him to understand you need to let him read your lips,” Lucien says.

They look up at him, lost, and he seems to realize something, looking up at Kyle with equal confusion. “You didn’t say anything to them?”

“It’s not like I was keeping it a secret. It just hadn’t come up.”

Six frowns, looking between the two of them. “What am I missing here?”

“I’m hard of hearing. I have to be able to read your lips to have a conversation with you,” Kyle says. There’s a defensive note there, like he expects something from them.

“Oh. That makes sense. Sorry, I was, uh… Oh, right, I was asking whether or not Lucien’s lying about being healthy again.”

There’s a flash of surprise before Kyle’s smile goes back to looking genuine. “I don’t know, honestly. You’d have to talk to Charlette.”

They’re about to ask who that is when they’re joined by several important looking people. The one that immediately catches their eye is an older woman with the same air of command as William Yu, minus the arrogance and callous indifference. Her face is warmer, friendlier. Her blonde hair is long and shot through with streaks of grey, her eyes shining with a familiar light. They look from her to Lucien. Suddenly they understand where his good looks come from.

Her voice is smooth, with a heavy French accent. “It looks like you do not need to be told that your friends are here.”

Lucien grins. “Maman! Have you met Six already?”

“I have not had that pleasure.”

“Six, this’s my mother, Charlette. Maman, meet Six, I’ve told you about them.”

“Yes, you have.” Charlette smiles. “It is my pleasure, Six.”

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you too,” they say quickly, acutely aware that their first impression to her and most of those in the room had been that of an overeager child latching onto their friend.

“It is too bad you did not come at a better time,” she says. “I would have been grateful for the opportunity to get to know my son’s newest friend.”

Six doesn’t get a chance to wonder at her word choice. Lucien’s arm around their shoulders and bright grin erases their doubt. They have a friend. How… strange? nice? confusing?

They shake off their questions and ask, “Why is now a bad time? Does it have something to do with the Typhon released in TranStar America’s main building?”

Lucien barks out a laugh. “Trust me, you’re going to wish all we had to deal with was the Typhon.”

“What? Were there other cult members in there?”

“Three days ago several patrols reported increased activity among the southern suburbs,” Charlette begins. “I had assumed it was not a problem, but not an hour after the explosion we saw many - oh, what is the word in English…”

“Tanks,” Lucien says.

“Ah, thank you. Yes, we saw tanks making their way through the city. They broke down a few of the entrances into TranStar America and we have not seen them since.”

“It’s probably safe to assume they’re either working with the cultists or piggybacking on their disruption,” Lucien says. “We’ve been hanging back to see what happens.”

“Do you know who they are?” they ask.

Lucien grimaces. “Unfortunately. You remember Walther Dahl from the simulation?”

Their expression darkens. “It’s him?”

“And his lackeys.”

“Why is he attacking TranStar? Doesn’t he work for them?”

“Not anymore. Even William Yu isn’t arrogant enough to assume he could keep that jackass in line for long. He was fired in the middle of the development of the safe zone - no idea what he did, but it must’ve been bad, because we needed everyone we could get back then. Unfortunately he took a lot of his people with him. They settled down in a different part of the city and haven’t stopped being a pain in the ass since.”

“And now he’s back to take control?” they guess.

“We believe so,” Charlette says.

“Shouldn’t TranStar be able to fight him off? They’ve got a lot more people.”

“Well, TranStar America’s not really ready for an invasion right now, what with the cultists and the Typhon. None of our people have managed to get us word yet on the situation inside, but we assume that anyone who can has found a fortified room and locked themselves in,” Lucien says

“Only people we’ve spotted moving around inside were wearing Dahl’s colors,” Kyle says.

“So you don’t know who’s survived,” Six says, casual.

But not casual enough, as Kyle and Lucien exchange a look before Lucien shakes his head. “No, sorry. We’re trying to figure out a way to get people inside, but with Dahl’s people guarding the gate and the building entrances we’re at a bit of a loss.”

The thumb drive still hidden under their skin slips into their hand instead, and they trace the hard edges with a finger, thoughtful. “Send me in.”

“Absolutely not,” Lucien says immediately.

“Why not? I’m the best person to do it,” they argue. “I’ll be fine if they shoot me. I sneak in, steal one of their uniforms, and blend in. Piece of cake.”

Lucien groans. “Ignoring how totally fine you are with getting shot, Dahl’s got to be looking for you. His people will know what you look like.”

“Not if I look like somebody else.”

“You can do that?” Kyle asks.

They shift under the sudden attention, nervous. “Yeah. It takes a few minutes, but it’s not hard.”

“Six-”

Charlette interrupts her son. “You do know what they will do if they find you? Dying would be the least of your concerns.”

“I know.”

“What would you do once you were inside?”

“Find January.”

“Do you know where he is?” Lucien asks.

“Well, no.”

“See? You-”

“I do know where Sarah and Alex are though,” they continue.

“Lucien,” Charlette says, cutting him off before he can speak, “It seems to me that Six is willing to provide us with exactly what we need. If they can confirm that there are people left alive we can convince Grace to launch a rescue effort. Dahl’s people will be no match for hers. It is our best plan.”

“What about what’s best for Six?” Lucien snaps. “And no, Six, charging straight into a building full of people who want you dead is not what’s best for you. You’re barely two months old. Just leave it to adu- to other people for once.”

Six glares at him. “I’m not a child.”

“You’re not an adult either!”

“So what? No, really, so what? Who’s ever cared about that?”

“Nobody. That’s why I’m trying to keep you out of this. You don’t have to do anything. You can just take a step back and nobody’s going to blame you for it.”

Six glances to Charlette and Kyle, but they don’t seem inclined to butt in.

“You know what Morgan did on Talos 1?” they ask.

“Yes? How is that related?”

“So do I,” they say, pointing at their head. “Morgan fucked up and made me to fix it. Why let someone else do it instead?”

“Who cares why Morgan made you? He’s dead, and his crimes aren’t on you.”

“I don’t- Let me try that again.” They shake their head, trying to pull their thoughts together into sentences. “It’s not that I want to be what I was made to be. I want to help people, and Morgan built me so that I could do that. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be the one going in there, not when I was basically made for this. I want to do this.”

:Lucien scowls and goes to answer, only to be cut off by Kyle. “You’re trying to give them an option, Luce. You’ve got to let them choose or that’s pointless.”

Lucien deflates, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s barely even their choice. They’re just trying to make up for what he did.”

“No I’m not. I’ve said it from the beginning. I’m not Morgan. I’m not human. I’m not Alex’s brother. I’m just whatever the hell I am, and I want to help. That and…” They hesitate for a second before they bring their hand up for everyone to see the silver and black of the thumb drive. “That cultist stole this from Alex’s office. I’ve got to go back in anyways.”

“How do you know he stole it from Alex?” Lucien asks.

“Alex told me.”

“And asked you to go get it. That guy…” Lucien shakes his head. “Any idea what’s on it?”

“Nope.” They realize, with a sudden sense of unease, that everyone in the room seems to be eyeing the thumb drive with varying degrees of interest. As quickly as they’d withdrawn it they hide it again from the prying eyes. “I won’t give it to anyone but him.”

A few people begin to argue, but they fall silent when Charlette holds up her hand. “Honesty is a valuable trait. I will not ask that you betray his trust, nor will anyone else here. It is unlikely that it contains anything we could make use of in the first place. Six. How do you plan to sneak in?”

“I’ve already done it once, and TranStar wasn’t under attack then. Dahl’s people won’t be expecting anyone to attack from the outside. I’ll just Mimic my way over and get past them.”

“And then?”

“Hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” they confess.

“Your best chance would be to steal a guard’s uniform and blend in,” Kyle says. “But if you mimic one of them, you might run into somebody who knows them and give yourself away.”

“I could just copy someone else.”

“Like who? Everyone you know would be on their radar,” Lucien points out.

They mull that over, thinking. “What about Kyle?”

“What about me?”

“I could use your appearance.”

“Seriously?” He sounds surprised and intrigued, but not disturbed.

“Probably? You mind if I try right now?”

“Be my guest. This should be super fucking weird.”

It takes a few minutes and a borrowed hand mirror, but before long Six is looking back at what they think is a passable copy of Kyle’s face. They look up and ask, “So?”

Kyle’s studying them with a blank expression that has them shifting nervously. Was he bothered by such an obvious demonstration of just how inhuman they are? Had they made some mistake in his physique? Unnerved him by mimicking his form so easily?

Kyle whistles. “Damn, am I really that hot?”

They shoot him an exasperated glance as Lucien snickers. “How did I do?”

“If it weren’t for your voice, I’d think you were twins,” Lucien says.

“Alright. Kyle, you haven’t done anything to give Dahl’s people a reason to remember your face?”

“Nah. I’m just one of the riff raff. Nobody important.”

“Right. I can't wear my collar, so I hope you guys have a radio or something.”

It’s a matter of minutes before Six is outfitted with a new handgun, civilian clothing, and a very nearly invisible headpiece for communications. A few words of caution later they’re back out on the streets, and this time they’re free to make their way through the city unencumbered by human limitations. It feels good to get to fly past the many airborne Typhon instead of sneaking past like a beaten dog.

Dahl’s people are clearly still trying to establish themselves, and their wall security is much easier to bypass than TranStar’s. The soldiers are obviously distracted making sure they aren’t snuck up on from behind, and they’re spread so much thinner it isn’t any trouble to find a gap to slip through. Six slinks into the city unnoticed. They take on Kyle’s form and focus on looking casual.

“What are you doing?”

The barked question gives them a sharp start. It’s one of Dahl’s men, looking at Six like he’d much rather shoot them than have to deal with another TranStar citizen.

“I was dropping off-”

The soldier cuts Six off. “Fine. Get over with the rest.”

‘The rest’ turn out to be a few dozen people rounded up and sitting on the sidewalk, watched by a trio of bored guards that barely spare Six a glance as they take a seat. A minute later another set of soldiers walk past, leading yet more of the TranStar populace. The soldiers meant to be watching Six’s group fail to take note as Six rises to their feet and merges seamlessly with the passing people. As they walk past a pile of trash Six quickly Mimics an empty can until they’re alone again. No one seems to notice, and they guess that Dahl hadn’t exactly left the cream of the crop behind when he’d gone to storm TranStar America’s main building.

A few blocks down they find Dahl’s people doing sweeps of the houses. Two of them enter the home nearest Six, and Six creeps in through a closed window. They get lucky - the woman is close to Kyle’s weight and height, and she is the one they find first, her back turned to them as she rifles through a box of jewelry and other valuables.

They draw her close in what was probably the least comfortable hug she’d ever received, cutting off her airflow. Their Typhon limbs hold her arms and legs down as her struggles grow weaker. When she finally goes limp they wait another few seconds until they can feel her pulse beginning to slow then lower her to the ground. Her dusty uniform is a surprisingly good fit. For the sake of courtesy they quickly clothe her in their discarded clothes before binding her arms and legs and trapping her in the closet. It wouldn’t be long before she was found, but the extra precaution couldn’t hurt.

They climb back out of the window they’d entered through and sneak a few blocks down before dropping to the street. They set their expression in an irritated line and walk with purpose through the roads until they reach the main building. The soldiers stationed at the doors barely spare them a glance as they sweep through the doors. The lobby carpet is filthy with mud and dirt, the air as crisp and cool as ever. Dahl’s people are everywhere, barking orders and hurrying to other sections of the building. In an instant, Six loses themself in the crowd, keeping their head low and walking with purpose.

“Our satellite has lost you, but we’ve still got comms. Don’t respond, we know you can hear us,” Lucien says, voice tinny over the radio. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

So do they.

 

 

  
Kyle watches the red dot that is Six disappear near the north western side of TranStar’s safe zone, expression grim. “Luce?”

“Yeah?”

“Six’s awfully loyal to Alex. You not worried about that?”

“Worried for them or for us?”

“Both.”

“Six isn’t an idiot. They won’t side with Alex.”

“Doesn’t mean they’ll side with us either.”

Lucien’s expression is grim, his eyes dark. “We’ll just have to hope it doesn’t come to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, yes, Kyle's got the worst crush on Lucien. They're both gay and oblivious and honestly, that's relatable.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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